Haunted
by I-am-LMR
Summary: Goren and Eames have become stranded in a lousy diner with a murder victim, suspects aplenty and... a ghost? The case plays on Goren's worst fear that he's losing his sanity. Part 2 is a reuinion romance story. Reformatted for your reading comfort!
1. State of Mind

**(Move this to summary space, then delete.) (If you're reading this it means I forgot to delete it. Oops)**

Summary of Part 1: Goren and Eames have become stranded in a lousy diner with a murder victim, suspects aplenty and... a ghost?? The case plays on Goren's worst fear; that he's losing his sanity. Part 2 is romance.

Part 1 is rated PG for murder (duh), and language. I'm not going to pretend to know anything about cop stuff, so we're doing the spooky old house thing. Deal.

BTW: I don't own either _Blair Witch _(except on video), and for some idiotic reason, I would like to go on record as saying that I actually like the second one: not that it's _good_, it's just kind of fun.

I would like to thank sources like the Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, etc for giving me all kinds of useless information that helps write Goren as if he were actually being written about by people who know what they're doing. I couldn't have done it without these sources.

So blame them.

You can solve it: the clues are all through the story. You can do it! Go you! Go you! It's your birthday! (thought you should have some encouragement.)

Haunted

by LMR

Dedicated to the mentally ill

Part 1- Possession

Chapter 1: State of Mind

by LMR

Disclaimer: Doink, doink! In New York City's war on crime, the worst criminal offenders are pursued by the detectives of the major case squad. But when they're not pursuing the worst criminal offenders, some idiot fanfic writer is putting them into a lousy Supernatural?/Mystery/Romance/Humor story. The detectives of the major case squad hate this. They want you to read this stupid thing as quickly as possible so they can get back to more bearable and pleasant things, like murder. Doink, doink!

Goren looked out the passenger side window. They were way out of the city now, and Eames showed no sign of pulling off the main road.

"You didn't tell me this place was so far out of the way," he commented. "There are lots of diners between home and...where are we, anyway?"

"Burkhamstead," Eames replied. "Only about three hundred people, really good diner."

"There are _lots _of really good diners."

"It's the mushrooms," she said simply.

Goren had a pretty good idea what the answer would be, but decided to point out the obvious. "Lots of places have fried mushrooms."

"Not _these _fried mushrooms," she pointed out.

Yup. "Oh, brother."

"Not brother," she corrected. "Nephew." She patted her bulging middle. "Blame him."

"It's not his fault Aunt Alex has no control over her cravings."

She glowered. "Hey, I've been good so far. And you said you would treat me to dinner to celebrate - hell, be honest about it, you're celebrating that I'm getting rid of this kid next week and coming back to work." He laughed: That was definitely true. "You didn't specify where, and you can't complain about the distance, because it's my car."

"Not complaining," he said. "Just observing."

She thought for a moment. "So, is it technically still maternity leave if I'm not the mom?"

"Why are you asking me?"

"Why not? You know everything," she answered, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

He sighed. "Well, technically, yes. But if you wanted to you could call it _tea_nity leave..."

She tuned out the rest of his response. Someday, she was going to teach her partner the meaning of "rhetorical question."

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she pulled onto a side road, then a dirt road, and finally, up to the drive of a small building that must have been a house at some point. The sign hanging from one hook declared that it was "Eleanor's." _Poor, remiss Eleanor_, Goren thought as they got out of the car. The yard was not so much a yard as a mud garden, and his shoes were making squishy noises as he walked. So many dying, splintered trees surrounded the lot, dropping wet leaves onto the roof of the house. Goren wiped his shoes on the mat for at least a minute, until he was satasfied that he wouldn't track any mud in. He figured it would hardly have mattered anyway. Through the first set of doors was a small room that looked like it had once been a porch, but was now closed in to make a small sitting area. An old green sofa took up one side of the room, sitting under a large window. Goren supposed it was for waiting guests and wondered briefly if it was ever needed. Through the second set of doors was the dining room. It was larger than he would have thought from looking at the outside, but still confined. The only other patron was a big man in a lumberjack sort of outfit sitting in the corner munching on a cheeseburger and fries. A small, portly man with an apron and an absolutely bald head greeted them at the door.

"Hello, there, sit anywhere. Name's Tomath Malpuente. Everybody calls me Thompson. Don't remember why, but that's the way it goes. What can I getcha to drink?"

Goren attempted to help Eames into a window booth, got impatiently swatted away. "Decaf, extra sugar," she ordered.

Thompson laughed a little at that. "Yeah, I guess your husband would get mad if I let you get anything stronger than that."

Goren supressed a grin. _This is going to be good._

"Really can't say what my husband might think, but the father sure wouldn't like it," she said casually, as Thompson took notice of her bare left hand.

Goren turned his face to hide a fit of laughter while Thompson nearly dropped the coffe pot in shock at her cavalier attitude. He straightened his face enough to casually add, "I shudder to think how much fun you would be having if this were your brother's instead of your brother-in-law's." Eames looked like she was almost going to laugh. Thompson was turning an interesting shade of green.

"Uh, you?" he asked Goren.

"A beer."

He hesitated as he handed him a bottle. "Only one of these, or she'll have to drive. House rules. You okay with that?"

"I don't know," Goren asked seriously. "Are you sure I can survive your driving for one night?"

"With an attitude like that you won't," she remarked, never looking up from her menu. She was the only person he had ever met who could act like that without seeming even the slightest bit angry.

"I'll risk it," he told Thompson, taking the beer.

"Any idea what you want?"

"Two servings fried mushrooms, extra sauce," Eames said without hesitating, handing him the menu.

He raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment. "You?"

"Perogi, please." He frowned, thinking. "Malpuente. I've never heard that name. I think that means bad br..." But Thompson was already across the room, leaving Goren looking disappointed.

"Give it a rest, brainiac," Eames advised.

A few minutes later, Thompson returned. "How is everything?"

"Great, thanks," Goren said. It was mediocre, really, but he'd always found he got more information by being generous with the compliments, and even when he wasn't on a case, it had become a habit. "Compliment the chef for me."

"Just did, thank you," Thompson said. He puffed up with pride, reminding Eames of a blowfish.

"You're the cook, too?" she wondered.

"Cook, server, mater-dee, owner, everything. My house, too."

"So who's Eleanor?" Goren asked.

"Well, okay, it really is Eleanor's place, but I can't really count on her to mail out the electric bills, so we share ownership." He laughed at his own little joke, which made no sense at all to the detectives. Thompson seemed oblivious to their confusion. "Hundred-seven years ago, she took possession, and she's never left since. Sometimes I wonder if she even knows how. But she's good for business, that's for sure. Lotsa tourists on ghost tours of the state. Some of the idiots who've just come from Amityville. Sheesh, when will they learn? They'd believe _Star Trek _if somebody told them it was a true story! But I can't complain, I guess. It's why halfa them come here, all disappointed, and then _Bam_!" He smashed his fist against his hand for emphasis. "The real thing!"

"How did she die?" Goren wanted to know.

"Well, her mother was crazy as a loon, outta her head nutcase without all her marb-"

"We get the picture," Eames said fiercely.

Thomson looked surprised at her firm rebuke, but continued. "Well, anyway, the girl was more afraid of going insane than anything in the world. She was convinced that it was the worst fate possible." It was obvious he'd told this story about a hundred times as he paused for dramatic affect. Eames checked, and found Goren's face was unreadable. "We'll as you'll see, the bathroom window is always foggy, and one night she looked out, and saw a white wispy image like a hanged specter. It terrified her so much, the thought that she had finally cracked, too. And that scared her so bad, she hanged _herself _right outside the same window." Another pause. "The real tragedy is, her family realized a short time later that there was a big white water bird always hanging around the area. Flappin' his wings like a lady in white swingin' from side to side." He made a little gesture with his hand, just in case they didn't get the idea. "She wasn't crazy at all. 'Course, lotsa people see things now. She makes sure of that. So for more'n a hundred years now people have seen some interesting things, lights always going on and off by themselves, things moving, some people say they've seen her. I never have, but I sure don't doubt it. I've felt her in the room with me, hair on the back of your neck standing up, blood running cold. Like somethin' outta a poem by Poe," he finished dramatically. "Happened right here."

"Very interesting," Goren said. "Thanks."

After he left, Eames raised an eyebrow. "Hold me down: I can't contain my excitement." She was frustrated to see a face filled with confusion instead of the grin she'd been aiming for.

"You didn't think that was interesting?"

"Oh, you can't tell me you're actually interested in the local ha'ant?"

"Stories usually tell more about the teller than the subject," he pointed out. "I'm always trying to figure everything out, you know that." He shrugged. "Useless here, but just a habit."

"All I learned about Thompson from that story is that he's a wacko who needs to get out more." _That _one got the grin.

It wasn't long after that that the rain started tapping on the window, and soon is was truly pouring. A bedraggled and drenched couple walked in shaking their jackets. The woman set down what looked like a small bag of luggage, then hung her coat up on the rack, straightened it out as best she could before turning to, or perhaps on, her companion. "Right, Steve," the woman said loudly. "This is exactly where you wanted us to end up."

It's a detour," Steve insisted defensively. Alex _almost _smiled again, absently slapping Goren's hand away from the mushrooms.

"Well, Jo, it's not so bad. We can just ask if any of these nice people have a GPS in their car. You can't get lost in America today."

"Where have I heard that before? Oh, yeah, _Blair Witch_. Worked out well for them!"

"Sheesh, now that's over dramatizing. We're not exactly in a life or death situation here. We're in an off-road diner, little outta the way, no big deal."

"What happened in_ Blair Witch_?" Goren asked quietly.

"Another wacko who needs to get out more." _Grin_. "Completely lost in haunted woods with no map or anything. Good movie, you should see it. But not the sequel. Best part of that was the end credits." She glanced at him appraisingly. "You don't like scary movies, do you?"

He shrugged. "I like any good movie."

"So, in other words, no horror movies."

"Some are good. Well, okay, I should say I like _some _bad movies. There's this terrible old one called _The Demon_, 1976, in South Africa. It's lousy, but there's something about the main character..." He thought about this for a moment and decided to bring up something else. "And my favorite book is horror: House of L-" He abruptly quit whatever it was he'd been about to say, and the two put their attention back on Steve and Joey's loud bickering. Joey made a face, peeling a wet leaf off her coat and dropping it neatly into the trash. "Assuming someone has a GPS," she reminded him.

"Everybody has a GPS," Steve insisted. "Everybody except us, I mean," he amended. He looked around the small group, dubious. Ronald looked like he'd lived in the woods his whole life and might never have _heard _of a GPS. His eyes settled on Goren.

"Do you have a GPS in your car?"

"Not with me."

"_My _car. And no, I don't," Eames said. Goren looked surprised. "What? I never get lost."

"Do you have a phone?" he asked Thompson.

"Nah. Used to, but Eleanor was always playin' around with it so it never worked. Gave up."

"Cell phone?" Steve asked the room, although at this point, he didn't look too hopeful. Eames started to reach down before she realized that she'd left it at home after getting about five calls from her sister 'just to check.' She wanted to _honestly _be able to tell her that she didn't know she'd called.

Goren got his out, then frowned. "Dead battery."

Eames looked at him incredulously. "Highest IQ in the state of New York and you can't remember to charge your cell phone." Goren pouted at this observation.

"Well, we might as well settle for a while," Steve conceded. "It's too stormy to drive in unfamiliar territory." They sat in the next booth over.

Mr. Malpuente, at least, was pleased. "Good idea, good food."

By the time the gaudily dressed woman entered Eleanor's, the rain was nearly deafening. She swore loudly as she shook the water off her coat. "Gin and tonic," she more demanded than ordered.

At the sound of her voice, Steve sank in the chair, possibly because Jo turned sharply toward her and scowled. "Annie Daniels," she growled, as if that were enough of an explanation to make everyone in the room, or possibly the world, cringe.

"Great," Annie snapped. "Not only am I stuck in this lousy place, I'm stuck with the two-" her eyes fell on the other man in the corner. "Make that three- people I hate most." She threw her coat onto the rack. It landed on top, but she wasn't paying attention and obviously wouldn't have seen or cared if it had fallen to the floor. Goren could see lots of lift tickets on the zipper, a status symbol in the Rockies. Snobs left them on their coats forever and a day to show off where they had been. He glanced at the same jacket Eames always wore. She was still wearing it. She had been skiing a few times. No tickets. She didn't have anything to prove, and probably threw them in the recycling bin like any sensible person would.

The man in the corner gave Annie another scowl and tuned back to his fries. Her hatred of the man seemed to pique Joey's interest. Apparently anyone Annie hated was up a notch in her opinion. Goren was watching all this intently.

Annie finally noticed the detectives. "Don't recognize you." It came across as a profound insult.

"Outta town," Goren replied simply.

She turned back to Joey, apparently deciding that she couldn't find enough to complain about with the detectives as targets. "So, Joey, you're still married to this creep? Hasn't he cheated on _you_, yet?"

Joey stared her down coolly. "He doesn't cheat on a woman he loves. Or maybe it's just because I don't look like a horse."

"Ladies, please try to be civil," the man in the corner said politely.

Annie laughed derisively. "You can talk to me after you've paid me, _Donnie_."

"You know I hate to be called Donnie, you obnoxious little-" he glanced at Eames. "Jerk," he finished. "I don't owe you Jack!"

Eames leaned in. "Welcome to Trailer Park Theatre."

"The hell you d-"

"Hey," Thompson cut in. "I'm telling you _all _to be civil, or you can just wait outside for the storm to let up."

"Still got cockroaches in this dive, _Malpunta_?" Annie remarked.

"Don't call me that, _ramera. _And you know that was _seven _years ago," he added loudly, "I had just taken possession, and they were gone in a week! Damn good time: they are the hardest to kill little mothers on the planet."

Goren piped up for the first time during all this. "Actually, they're not: the waterbear is so adaptable it can survive in outer..." Thompson was washing the bar as if none of them existed. "...space," he finished lamely.

"Don't think he cares."

Eames was aware that Goren didn't butt it with ridiculous facts like that to show off: he just assumed everybody else wanted to learn trivial, geeky little things like he did. And now he looked somewhat hurt that the others obviously didn't. "But it's interesting."

Eames rolled her eyes. "If it'll keep you from pouting all night, tell me about the waterbear." She tried her best to sound patronizing, but to be honest, she was geekier than she liked to admit. It was kind of fun having a human encylopedia and umpteen language translater for a partner.

He had only gotten a few minutes into his lecture on resilient, microscopic, lichen-dwelling insects when Annie decided they deserved some more attention. "So, is he still putting tourists to sleep with that breathtaking spook-story about the loony-toons ghost? Maybe he's a distant relative. It would explain some mental deficiencies."

Thompson let the insult bounce off him, but apparently couldn't resist sharing his opinion on an important matter. "Don't run in _la thangre_." He lined up two bottles on the counter for Steve and Joey. 'S far's I'm concerned, insanity is just a state of mind. You're as sane as you let yourself be."

Eames shot him a look that could have killed a waterbear. Goren didn't seem to care, probably so used to it it didn't phase him. It made her blood boil. She'd hated that attitude, that arrogance even before her. . . ?partner?friend?_best _friend?, well, whatever the hell he was, was somebody with looming mental illness, now it downright infuriated her. How could anyone pretend to know what they faced everyday? Say that they weren't strong enough?

"Now, I think," Thompson said predictably. "That if a person is strong enough-"

"I think you should shut up, considering your 'state of mind' is that you don't have two brain cells to rub together!" Eames snapped.

This was the first part of the conversation Goren even seemed to hear. He smiled a little. "Thanks, but I don't really care."

"I do," Eames scowled.

"He's got some good qualities," Goren defended him. Eames looked at him as if he'd just taken a bite of pomegranate and insect sandwich. "Well," he said, obviously searching for something. "he got rid of a nest of cockroaches in a week. He has to be pretty clever." Eames could see the daze of digression taking over his face. "Of course, those were _Germanic _cockroaches. Everybody always seems to picture Madagascar hissing cockroaches because they seem more sinister, which is kind of funny, because they're actually quite docile. People keep them as pets. One time, one made itself really comfortable on my hand, just crawling around, very calm."

Eames yanked her plate as far way from his hand as possible, getting a laugh.

"Well, I can see how you never get insulted by anything." He raised an eyebrow. "You can't keep your mind on the same thing for two minutes at a time."

"Sorry, what were we talking about?"

Steve looked out the window, pensive. "How long do you suppose we'll be here?"

Joey looked out as well, and reasoned, "The radio in the car said this would keep up all night. And it that it would keep getting worse until morning."

"We're stuck here, aren't we?" Steve asked, annoyed.

"Um-huh."

"It's a good place to be stuck. Good food," Thompson insisted, either always the optimist or always the salesman.

Ronald was looking out the window at the rain, kicked off his shoes, apparently not finding this at all inconvenient. Ronald didn't seem to notice that Steve was giving him a funny look, and went back to his food as if there was nothing at all troubling about any of it. It seemed to Goren he might spend most of his time here anyway. Annie didn't seem impressed by the promise of food. "Yech: everything's loaded with carbs."

"Well, carbohydrates are actually-" he started, drawing a raised eyebrow and a _you're kidding, right? _glance from Eames.

"Right, they don't care," he reminded himself.

Annie looked at Eames with a measure of disgust. "You're not going to pop, are you?" It was obvious she cared more about the cleanliness of her ugly clothes than Eames's and her nephew's wellbeing.

"That depends," Eames said flatly. "Would a screaming baby drown out your complaining?"

"Is she always this charming?" she asked Goren who was trying not to look _too _amused..

"Yes," he answered straightforwardly as if he hadn't noticed the slightest bit of sarcasm in the question.

She walked away, making a noise that sounded like "Urch."

Goren, grinning, shook his head. "You know, one of these days one of your little comments is going to make the wrong person mad."

"Finally getting annoyed with my sense of humor?"

"No, _I _love it. But not everybody will: you should be more careful." Her look was something like a five year old told to stop pulling a sibling's hair.

Annie abruptly announced, "This day could not go any farther into hell."

Goren was just attempting to bite back the automatic urge to tell her that it was 'further,' when the day did, indeed, go further into hell. The power went out with a whine. Everyone let out a groan of severe aggravation, mixed with a few explicatives.

"Well, I've got a radio, anyway," Thompson said lamely. "Maybe we'll hear something about the weather." He switched on a puny little radio on the bar. In Eames's opinion, this only made matters worse, as it was playing country. Goren seemed relatively happy with this, and Eames figured he probably listened to anything. Something about expanding musical horizons. Whatever. "I'll get some candles from the pantry. Make yourselves at home," Thompson offered, with a look toward Annie that clearly said _That doesn't mean you_, and left the room.

"Well, I can't just sit here," Joey decided. "I'm getting the map. Maybe I can actually figure something out."

"The map out in the car?"

"No, Steve, I'm going to Australia to get one. Of _course_, the one in the car."

"Restroom, " Goren said simply and started for the corner. Eames nodded and stared out the window at the rain and did her best to think about nothing at all, eventually zoning completely out of the diner.

Steve fidgeted. "I'm going to look for a flashlight upstairs." The others in the room figured this was a rather lousy thing for him to do, seeing as it was Thompson's home, but no one bothered to stop him. Annie stared bored at the ceiling, and after a moment of thought, went into the kitchen. Again, no one bothered to stop her.

As Goren washed his hands at the sink, he immediately saw Thompson had been right. It was difficult to see through the smoky window. He could also see what he swore were traces of phosphorescent paint in vague shapes around the edges. He grinned. What a showman.

And a movement caught his eye. A flash of white. And in a horrifying moment that seemed to last an hour, he swore he saw a woman's face, slightly translucent and somewhat fuzzy around the edges, looking back at him. He was chilled to the bone: not because he feared he was looking at a ghost, but because he knew he wasn't.

He took a seat on the closed toilet to collect himself for a few minutes before returning to the dining room.

Eames's brow furrowed as Goren returned to the dining room. "What is it?"

He leaned in so no one might overhear. "I saw a face outside the window. A woman's face."

"Joey was outside." He shook his head. "What, you don't mean Eleanor?" Eames asked skeptically.

"No, no, that's-" he sighed, not knowing what to say. "It wasn't, of course. But it did look...strange. Not the way a person should look. I don't know who it was." He bit his lip. "Or if I really saw it."

Her expression changed completely: sadness, compassion, impatience, frustration, and disbelief.

"I know you better than anyone, and I _don't _believe that you ha-"

And Thompson yelled from the kitchen. "Annie! She's dead!" There was panic in his voice. "There are bruises on her neck: I think she was strangled! Murdered! Call the police!" Everyone stood at hearing this news. Feeling incredibly guilty, Goren reached around Eames's waist, looking like he was being protective or comforting. He was, in fact, making sure she was carrying her sidearm under her jacket. She was, of course. She looked at him. _You?_

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. They went back to looking at Thompson in disbelief like everyone else, Goren's arm safely at his side.

As the slam of a shockwave settled over the room, Joey was the first to recover and sensibly point out, "Even if we had a phone, the police couldn't get here any more than we can get out. We're stuck."

"Stuck with a dead person. Great," Ronald added.

"And a murderer," Steve mentioned. "_Really _great. When was she... um?"

"She was right here just ten minutes ago," Eames reasoned.

"Who wasn't in the room, then?" Steve wondered.

"Only Ronald and I were here," Eames answered. "And I wasn't paying attention to anything. Actually, I think I might have drifted off." Eames silently cursed herself.

"Same here. I was sittin' against the wall, facin' the corner. I don't _think _I fell asleep ..." He didn't sound so certain.

"So we don't know who Annie was with," Eames pointed out. "None of us has an alibi, except that Ronald and I were both here, but with the amount of attention we were paying the room, it's not much of one. Everyone else was in different places. Goren was in the bathroom, Thompson was in the pantry, Joey was in her car, Steve was upstairs and obviously, Annie was in the kitchen."

"Well, we're sitting tight till the police can come. Nobody touch the body, try not to go into the kitchen. Stick with somebody all the time, preferably someone you trust completely."

Steve glared at him. "What is it you do, again?"

"Insurance company," Eames answered without pausing. "We're cubicle whack-a-moles, why?"

"Well, are you guys, like, geniuses or something, 'cause you sure are bossy?" Ronald asked, sounding perturbed.

"No smarter than anybody else," Goren said simply. Eames didn't let herself look in his direction. No tipping hands: They needed the killer, or killers to relax and make a mistake, not to turn extra cautious near them. "I watch crime shows," he offered lamely.

"Yeah, that counts, Goren," Eames piped up. "Those shows are so stupid. And the actors are always so lousy."

"Well, I watch those, too, so what? It's not like you have any authority," Steve said sourly.

"Anybody have any problems with the suggestions we've given? Or better ones? Please, by all means..." There wasn't a trace of hostility in Goren's voice, he

sounded truly interested in feedback.

Steve quieted, mostly because he would have to admit that they _were _pretty good ideas.

"Coffee: make friends with it," Joey remarked.

Thompson was livid. "There was a murder in my restaurant, my _kitchen_, and one of you is the killer. You're gonna fry. I'll fry you myself right with the _papath _and

the mushrooms." Eames pushed her plate of mushrooms away, gave a what the hell shrug and bit into another. "I wanna know who you all are, where you're from and what you're doing here! All of you!"

"You know who I am: I'm here nearly every day," grumbled Ronald.

"I know your name and how you like your burger, Raitt," Thompson corrected. "That doesn't tell me anything!"

"Well, calm down," Ronald said. "We'll _all _talk. But we start with the strangers."

They all looked at Goren and Eames as though expecting a fight. Goren shrugged. "My name's Robert Goren. This is my friend Alex Eames. We live in the city. Work in an office downtown. I've never been here." He looked at Eames, "When were you here?"

"Just once, three years ago. Got off the main road. There was nobody else here. I never met Annie."

"So why'd you come all the way out here for dinner?" Joey wondered. "Food didn't bring you." Thompson glared. "Ghost hunters?"

"No, the kid's to blame for that one. I had a craving for these mushrooms, specifically." Now Thompson was beaming.

"Right," Joey intoned, clearly not believing anyone would have cravings for the food at Eleanor's.

"And you, sir, ma'am?" He invited Steve and Joey. Eames marveled that he could be so polite to people who were so-

"Steve McLaggen. Live in Amityville-"

"So you know! It's bunk, right?" Thompson shouted excitedly.

Steve continued as if there had been no ghostly digression. "We were on our way to Maine for a week. I was born here in town, so I knew this place from before- _nine _years ago," he clarified to a suspicious looking Thompson, who'd been about to blurt out that he didn't know him. He shuffled his feet nervously. Obviously, he had something more that he didn't really want to share. He sighed. "Annie was my fiance, and nine years ago, I left her for Joey." Eames nodded, she'd gathered that from the shouting match. "After I left her, she was pretty upset about it. Moved out of the country for a year, even."

Goren interrupted. "Where to?"

"Madrid. I didn't even know she was back in town, just knew she came back to the country somewhere. Said somebody was giving her trouble over there or

something. Well, it's no secret she hates me. She thinks she should have gotten money out of me, but I swear I didn't cheat her. I did cheat _on _her," he admitted reluctantly, "But that's not a crime. And it's not like it was some sleazy affair: I fell for Joey," he rationalized. "And anyway, who can blame me? You met her."

The group turned their eyes to said mistress. "Joey McLaggen, born Joey Bright, here in town till nine years ago, married Steve, got the hell out of here. Now I'm a social worker for the state."

Ronald sighed. "Ronald Raitt. I might as well get it over with, since she was yelling about it anyway. She figured I owed her money."

"Did you?" Eames asked bluntly.

His eyes wandered around the room; thinking. "I don't know the technicalities. I rented some land from her, the crop failed. Her land wasn't any good, but she

says- she said it was my fault. We hadn't settled it yet."

"Be pretty convenient for you if she died, wouldn't it?" Joey prodded.

"Oh, come on!" Ronald growled. "We all had reason to kill her, 'cept maybe the guys from the city, but that doesn't mean that we know who did it!"

"He's right," Eames pointed out. "Motive's not enough. Annie obviously made enemies. Feel like sharing with the class, Thompson? What's your story?"

"I don't have to talk! It's my place."

"And you could be the murderer as well as anyone," Goren pointed out. "I'm not saying that you are," Goren reassured Thompson, who was about to protest.

"Just that it would make us all feel a little better if we knew something about you."

"I'm Thompson Malpuente. Immigrated here, _legally_, mind you," he glanced around at the others nervously before continuing, "From Puerto Rico. I bought the

place from Thurston Tracks when I got here, and took possession seven years ago. I didn't like Annie, first to admit it. She was foul. But I certainly didn't kill her. Even if I could do it, she never did anything bad enough for _that_."

"Didn't she try to shut you down?" Ronald asked. "Trying to prove that Eleanor didn't exist?"

He shrugged. "All that did was bring more attention. Hell, they had it on the local news," he said proudly. "All skeptics do is make believers more persistent."

"Is there anyone else, someone not here, who might want to kill Annie?" Eames asked. Goren knew she was thinking about the face he'd seen.

"You mean besides anyone who's ever met her?" Joey asked.

But Steve looked like he was thinking. "There was someone. When Annie came back from Spain, she complained about someone, a stalker, she said. I always thought all that talk about a stalker was bull." He shrugged. "Maybe it wasn't."

"Did she tell you anything about the guy? Anything specific?" Goren wondered.

"Just that it was some guy that lived around there. She didn't know him. She said she never even got a good look at him."

"None of this gets us anywhere," Thompson reasoned.

"You're right," Eames affirmed. "I think we should just all stay in one place, keep an eye on each other, and try to relax. As much as we can, anyway. By morning, the roads will be cleared up, and we can get the police. Thompson, I think you should lock up any knives or other weapons you might have, and we should hang the key from that fan, out in the open so no one can sneak it. If nothing else, someone will panic and an innocent person will get hurt. 9FM Chicago: Attention deficet radi- oh look a little kitty! (and I don't even work for them!)


	2. If That's What It Takes

Haunted

Part 1: Possession

Chapter 2: If That's What it Takes

By LMR

Disclaimer: "Oi, what are we going to do tonight, Brain?"

"The same thing we do every night, Pinky! Try to take over the show, which is currently owned by Dick Wolf, and the characters who were created 10 by the writers and 90 by Vincent D'Onofrio and Kathryn Erbe."

The thunder was crashing above them. Goren was frowning, thinking. "Is there a back door to the kitchen, Thompson?"

"Yeah," he said, sounding suddenly cheerful as if he he were excited to have something of a good idea about the situation.

"Open?" Goren wanted to know.

"I keep a brick in it for air flow. Gets hot back there."

Goren knew they couldn't press their luck by asking to see: they weren't cops here, they were suspects. "So whoever it was wouldn't have needed to be by this door into the kitchen, they could have gone around without anybody's seeing?" He wrinkled his brow.

Eames shrugged as if she wasn't sure what to think. "Maybe we should look around outside."

"In this rain?" Joey asked. "I don't know."

"Well, in this rain, anything we could see out there will be completely gone by the time it clears up," Steve added. Maybe we should. I mean, I'd be willing to if that's what it takes to figure this out and feel safe tonight."

So at ten minutes after the murder, the crowd trouped out to the mud garden.

"It's footprints. Coming out of this window here. There's a number. That's convenient. Twelve." Goren said definitively, standing by the window over the sofa.

Naturally, Ronald had put his shoes back on to go out into the yard. Everyone's shoes were covered in mud now, but they could all plainly see that the pattern of Ronald's footsteps matched the tread of the footprints by the window. Joey was giving Ronald a hateful look.

"I didn't do that!" he insisted.

Goren was still paying attention to the tracks, not looking at Ronald at all. He leaned his head to the left so far that he nearly halved his height. Eames was encouraged: It meant he was noticing something important. "But it's the wrong size," he announced abruptly. Eames took a closer look.

"Whoever made these was _not _a men's size twelve."

"What makes you think that?" Joey wondered.

Eames did her best to sound unsure and amateur. "Looks to me like this guy wasn't stepping hard enough to be that big, you know? Too close together, too. I think. They don't look like Ronald's footprints." With difficulty, she stood up. She walked to where they had all made tracks in the mud. "See? Mine are shallower than

Ronald's. It'd be even shallower except for the kid. These footprints over here are more like mine, someone my size."

Ronald and Joey both looked at her with suspicion.

"If they really were her footprints, do you think she'd have brought it up?" Steve reminded them.

"I think it's a pretty safe bet that a woman who's due next week _didn't _climb out that window and make these prints," Goren pointed out.

"So what are you saying about them? Exactly?" Ronald asked hopefully.

"We can be reasonably sure," Eames informed him. "That your shoes made these, but you didn't."

"Toldja," he growled toward Joey.

"Very amateur," Goren noted. "Using someone else's shoes to make very obvious, easily-spotted footprints.

Thompson started looking at Goren with suspicion again. Eames could see he was trying to understand how he knew so much about crime scenes. "He spent some time in the fraud department of the company," she explained coolly. "Suicides made to look like accidents, arsons, fake robberies..."

Goren was glad for the quick excuse. She lied so easily. "Yeah, this reminds me of the safe that was 'broken into.'" The tone of his voice made a point about the veracity of the break-in. "Guy bought some used shoes, Goodwill. Made some tracks, and if this is like that..." he let his voice trail off as he walked carefully just behind the origin of the prints. "Here. He should have jumped down from here and landed feet side by side," He pointed, unable to get closer to the ground without smudging the prints. "But it looks like he just started walking from here."

"Or just started walking from there with _those shoes_," Eames pointed to the ground behind Goren, where there were some very less visible footprints made with a very different size and shape. "They're totally different," she said, getting as close to the ground as she could.

"Smaller," Goren agreed. "Looks like someone tried to wipe them out with that branch." He pointed to a nearby branch covered in mud.

"Fortunately, it doesn't look like they tried hard enough." Eames remarked. "Right here, you can make out a number. Six. Looks like a lady's to me."

Everyone looked suspiciously toward Joey again.

"What? She's a lady, too!" she pointed at Eames.

"I wear ladies' shoes, anyway. But these prints are too dressy," she said pointing to denim keds. "I didn't exactly pack extras. Didn't the two of you bring in luggage? Anyway, I'm a five, and again, the kid."

"It would be a perfect excuse, the baby," Steve remarked, eyeing her.

Goren stared, bored, at the bushes as she lifted her shirt just enough to show her very unfaked stretched abdomen. "Yeah, well, good thing I thought of that nine months ago when I signed the paperwork." More confused stares greeted her. She didn't seem to notice. "'Course I didn't know I'd be coming here during a storm, on the one night neither of us is carrying a cell phone, and of course that I would have a burning desire to kill someone that I had never met before, although from what I saw of her-"

Goren interrupted before her sense of humor could get them into trouble. He pointed to the ground behind them. "There's something back there." He squinted at the imaginary something. "Just a leaf." Steve looked at Goren suspiciously, but said nothing.

Eames rolled her eyes, knowing she'd just been told to be careful of what she said.

"Can we go inside now?" Joey wondered.

"Yeah, we should," Eames agreed. There's nothing we can decide out here that we can't think about inside." They trudged inside, Thompson howling at everyone to wipe their shoes. After Joey had finished getting all the grime from the sides of her shoes, they all headed into the dining room. No one minded waiting on her: None of them were going to let any of the others out of their sight for a moment. After a few minutes of protest, Steve and Joey finally allowed them to look through the small bag they'd brought with them. The shoes were there, size six, and there was mud covering them and the clothes beneath them. "I got my tennis shoes out of it earlier, these were uncomfortable," she explained. "But I didn't put these in _here_, they were too dirty. I set them on the vent in the corner to dry out the mud." She pointed to the small vent in the back left corner. "That's where I left them. I. Didn't. Do. Anything."

"I left my shoes in the corner. She musta grabbed them." Ronald pointed out. "We should lock her in the pantry," he asserted. Joey's jaw dropped.

"We can't do that," Eames said.

"But she's probably the killer," Ronald said, "So if she is, she wouldn't be able to hurt anyone else."

"Yeah, and if she's not, she's a sitting duck," Eames told them. "We're _not _locking anybody up. Look, since we're obviously stuck here, we should just wait for the road to clear up and try as much as we can _not _to think about it." So they all sat, just staring for a while, throwing suspicious glances at each other. Steve even gave his own wife a questioning, nervous look. Everyone was just trying to grasp the gravity of what had happened here. All but three people: The detectives were all too used to this (albeit not in these circumstances), and of course, the killer wasn't feeling too surprised, either. It was impossible to tell by their faces and movements who wasn't shocked by the situation. Thompson had wiped down the bar for what seemed like the tenth time. Steve was staring aimlessly into the garden, while Joey, somewhat despondent, looked down into her cup of coffee, as if she could find comfort or safety inside it. Ronald was staring at the grain of the wood. The detectives were wishing they could talk about the "case," but it would be too suspicious.

It was going to be a very long night.

Please review! Two seconds of your time will make me gleeful for the rest of the night, and I'll do the Snoopy dance!


	3. Accidently

Disclaimer: When characters from a famous story are **tormented **in a terrible fanfiction (that is not approved by Dick Wolf), it gathers in that website of **stupidity**. And all who click on it are consumed by it's **idiocy**. (And then they make a far inferior **sequel**.)

Part 1: Possession

Chapter 3: Juusan Uta (Accidentally)

By LMR

Goren got "_un niquel a cambio_" from thirteen dollars for dinner.

He said "Thank you," softly to the owner, in Spanish, and got a disconcerted look in return.

Eames stirred her hot chocolate pensively. Goren was looking to the evening sky outside. Along with the lightning slicing up the sky in sharp, vivid lines, there was a solitary crow. He had once read, years ago, that by looking at the number of crows in a murder (a flock), you could divine the future. One crow meant sorrow. "You ain't kidding pal," he said absently. But now he'd been joined by two more. So much for omens. Three crows meant a-

"What are you staring at?"

"Nothing."

"Would you like some dessert? Might help you feel better." Thompson offered eagerly.

Eames frowned at the dessert menu. "Let me look, I'll get back to you." He nodded and left.

"I guess I'd like some ice cream," Eames said after a moment's thought.

"If you say you want pickles on it we're leaving right now, storm or not," Goren commented.

She didn't even blink. "Don't be an ogre. That's _my _job. So don't even start in on the crav..." She let her lecture taper off, remembering what brought them there in the first place.

"It's not your fault."

"You mean not my fault we're stuck in a dump diner with a crowd country bumpkins, and having no way out with no phone? Oh, yeah, and a murderer?"

"Exactly. It happened accidentally. You couldn't have known. "He lowered his voice. "Besides, what might happen if we weren't here? Your craving could have ended up saving someone else's life."

She bit her lip. "I know, but I can't help but- I'm the one who insisted on coming out so far away, we're in the middle of nowhere, as it turns out, possibly in lot of danger. And now we're stuck here till morning, and it's only-" she checked her watch. "Eleven, good grief. Some accident."

Goren suspected that she was feeling worse about it than she normally might have because of the hormones. He considered pointing this out, but decided _not _to incite another homicide. Instead, he shrugged. "I wasn't doing anything tonight anyway. I need to get out more, remember?"

She made a humorless noise halfway between a laugh and a snort. "Not what I had in mind. Besides, speak for yourself. I've got lots of plans." He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, so most of them involve the SciFi channel and avoiding my sister, but they're still plans. Ice cream with strawberries," she told Thompson when he came back, "And bring a couple pickles just to piss off my friend."

Goren's brow furrowed. "Are you going to be okay?"

She shrugged. "You know more about pregnancy than I do. Am I?"

"Well, the baby'll be okay, it's just not the most comfortable place to be. Are you going to need anything extra from Thompson? Blankets? Pillow?"

"Just because I've got the kid doesn't mean I've gotten weak." He started to say something. "I _know _you don't," she responded. "But you've just got to treat me the-"

"I _can't _just treat you the same, you're not. I worry about the baby, too." He didn't mean for it to come out like an afterthought, but, alas...

She raised an eyebrow. "The same baby Bishop says you call 'that rotten little partner stealer'?" She looked thoroughly amused.

He bit his lip. "Yeah, maybe a couple times, sorry. Point is I _really _don't like the idea of your being here, especially now."

"That reminds me," she started, looking down. It was obviously a talk she'd wanted to put off. "Bishop talked to me. She told me not to talk to you about it, but I'm pretty sure she knew I would, but don't _tell _her I did."

Goren was getting a headache. She continued. "She's _really good _at her job. She's smart." 

"Yeah, I know."

"Well, she doesn't think you do," Eames said bluntly. "She seems to think nothing she does is good enough. I mean, come on," she lowered her voice to continue, "You're acting like a five-year-old with a new step-parent." She put on a bored, fake soothing voice, "She's not your real partner, she isn't trying to take your real partner's place, nobody can, she just hopes you can be friends."

"I don't mean t-" he started after laughing a little.

"I _know _you don't, but it's hard on her. I am _not _the standard she has to fit. Don't mention me, she's sick of it; she told me if she ever heard 'the E- word' again she was going to kick you." She took a sip of chocolate. "And _don't _tell her you're doing it because I told you to, I think that _might _not be what she'd like to hear."

They had a well-reasoned debate for a few minutes after the ice cream came about who was paying for it. (You said dinner, this isn't dinner. Since when is two

servings of fried mushrooms dinner?, and I said my _treat_, not dinner. I shouldn't be eating it anyway. Nothing wrong with eating ice cream once in a while, except that the pickles might not go down with the milk too well. I was going to put ice cream on the pickles and make _you _eat them. I'm still paying. Bite me.) Thompson finally insisted that the ice cream was on the house as it was an unpleasant night and pregnant lady should get a treat to help relax her - a congratulations dessert. The others figured it was to make them shut up, which was fine with them.

"I call the sofa," Steve blurted out.

"You _call _it? What grade are you in?" Joey asked.

Goren stepped very calmly into Steve's personal space. "Common courtesy dictates that when there's a woman here who's almost ready to give birth _she _should get the most comfortable surface," he said quietly.

"Goren, it's oka-"

"No, it's not." He turned back to Steve. "Are we agreed?"

"No! There are plenty of other comfortable spaces!"

"Good. Find one." He never raised his voice.

Love it hate it or anything in between tell me!


	4. I Don't Want To

Haunted: Part 1: Possession

Disclaimer: Comence nala. Enden woobadashnot. Foo plicka! Soap! (This means, in Sim language, I don't not own Law and Order: Criminal Intent. Please don't sue me.) BTW, if you're now saying, "No it doesn't! It means 'Nice to see you. After all that. Good cute little animal. This is fun.' Then like me, you play _waaaay _too much Sims. (Anden thea waz dis boom!)

Chapter 4: I Don't Want To...

The rain was beating against the side of the house opposite the detectives now, letting the stars shine through the window. Both detectives kept their eyes fixed that way, the backup light that had gone on over their table had a smaller beam than the regular, but over the table and the space right beside it, it was brighter than the regular light had been, practically blinding to stand under.

Goren whispered, trying not to move his lips. Eames wondered briefly if vantriloquism was one of the million things he had studied. "Play along."

He stood, and moved toward the radio, turning it up.

"Good song." It was playing a country ballad Eames thought sounded whiny. But she knew what he was doing, anyway. As expected, he held out his hand. "Dance?"

Eames tried to look convincingly bored. "I don't want to... but what the hell?" She took his hand and stood. She had already seen from some of his impromptu chats with witnesses that he was a good dancer, but the idea was still aggravating, not to mention awkward, with the nephew.

He leaned down toward her shoulder, and more importantly her ear. He smiled sweetly for effect. "Just watch where I point. I'm not sure what I think of Ronald," he said quietly.

She laughed, trying to sound embarrassed. "Me, neither," she said still laughing.

He led the dancing until their arms were pointing directly at Steve, tilting his head just slightly in the same direction. "What are you doing later this week?"

She looked as though she had been put on the spot and bit her lip a little, looking away from him. The way a woman might if she were mildly interested, while she actually pondered the likelihood of Steve being the killer. "I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"I think you're acting rather... oddly," he said.

She tried to speak both cynically and flirtatiously at the same time. Gag. Even if it _were _a man she was attracted to instead of just Goren, she wouldn't act like such a moron. She burst into laughter. "Well, someone seemed _awfully _anxious to get to the bed." She changed her expression to knowing cynicism. "Wonder why."

"Eager, actually. Anxious is when you're dreading something. Eager is looking forward to it." She rolled her eyes, putting him back on track. "But about that bed thing, don't look at me. No idea," he said with the mock innocence a man would use if he were busted.

"Well that's a new one," she said smiling and shaking her head.

"Oh, very funny, Alex," he said.

"Well, I suppose everyone's allowed to just be a complete jerk sometimes."

His hand extended only slightly in the direction of Thompson. "So what do you think about me?" he tried to sound nervous.

"Annoying as hell, but you don't worry me," she said looking at him with her eyes steady, unflinching, pupils dilated in a look of pure smug.

"Gee, thanks." He sounded as if he were trying to sound falsely aggravated. Arm toward Joey.

"Bobby, I'm definitely starting to suspect you might be up to trouble," She tried to speak as this idea truly appealed to her. More gag.

"Absolutely," Goren agreed.

Steve groaned. "Get a room. I'm gonna puke up this lousy food."

Thompson looked at him sourly for that one.

"Might as well quit," Goren conceded.

"Good. I feel like my back is about to break," Eames said truthfully. The song was ending anyway, fading into another, more perky country song she thought she recognized from the mainstream charts. She poked her remaining four mushrooms. _Oh, God_, she thought morosely. _I can hear my youth fading away to a soundtrack of adult contemporary_.

Joey sat down near Eames. She gestured to the stomach. "Your sister's, right?"

Eames's eyes widened. She was certain she hadn't said that since the car on the way over. "How did you-"

She smiled. "Just little stuff. Thompson couldn't wait to tell everyone what Robert said about your brother and brother-in-law, 'signed the paperwork,' no ring, your. . ._interesting _sense of humor about everyone's assumptions," Alex laughed a little. "And no mother, not even fifteen year old addicts calls their unborn 'the kid.' I suppose you have to make sure you don't..." She bit her lip, perhaps thinking she might have crossed the line.

But Eames smiled. "Yeah, it's tough. But we'll stay close by, and I'll see him all the time. I love him." She stroked him. "I guess I kind of want one of my own, but my sister's younger, and I don't even have a guy, so it's looking like a no."

"I don't either. Sometimes I wish... What about Robert?"

"No," she said. She had figured out on her own that he really _couldn't _have kids, he would never risk passing on the mental disorders that ran in his family. He never talked about that with her, but she could tell it pained him. He loved children, and all the time he spent with kids, she could see that it hurt him. But he'd never brought it up, so she didn't ever let on that she knew. She certainly wasn't going to tell Joey.

"So, are guys...um?"

"Nah, no 'um' at all, we were just goofing earlier. Good friends."

"Messing with our heads," she said admiringly. "There's that humor again. I like your sense of humor."

"Thanks," Eames said. "That brings the grand total to..." she pondered this. "Two. Now, I know _he's_ messed up, but what's happened to you to make you so twisted?" She'd seen an opportunity to get some information about Joey's past.

Unfortunately, Joey just laughed, taking it as a joke. Then she looked sadly at the floor. "For what it's worth, I didn't do it. I know you have no reason to believe me, but I hope you do. I don't think you did it. You're nice, and well, your stomach. I'm stumped, really."

"Well, you _are _really good at figuring things out, that's for sure. Ever thought about being a cop?"

"No way, you'd have to be crazy to do a job like that."

Eames looked at her partner. He was sitting in the corner with his head in his hands, looking intently at the floor. "Yeah, guess so. 'Scuse me." She went to him.

"Sleepy yet?" He shook his head. "Well, I am. Help me out so I don't trip over myself." When the got to the sofa, she let him see that her sidearm was concealed under her coat. Making sure no one could see, he took it and put it with his under his overshirt. He was carrying his coat, and gave it to her to add to the bundle she was making of her own. "What are you gonna use?" she asked. He shrugged.

"Don't need it. I'll keep watch."

"Okay. Wake me up when it's time to switch," she said starting to yawn. She added his coat to the bundle and laid down with the coats under her head.

"No. Sometimes, when I'm in a... well, a situation like this, I get hypomanic, and when that happens I don't need to sleep."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. There's a chemical shift in the brain, and-"

"Okay, okay, I believe you. No science lesson."

He laughed and took a seat on the floor in front of the sofa. Eames squished her head down into the makeshift pillow, inhaled deeply, looking rather contented for the situation they were in. She stretched and tried to keep herself awake enough to talk for a moment. "I don't think Joey did it," she remarked quietly.

Goren thought about that for a moment. The same idea had been hovering around in his mind, but he figured he'd let Eames bring it up. He knew she'd thought of it already. People never gave Eames enough credit for her half of the partnership. She noticed most of the same things he did (anything that didn't involve smells, and damned if she wasn't getting good at those, too) at the same time. She could read a suspect like a book, and she always knew how to trap them, yet she never minded being perceived as the sidekick. Seemed to enjoy being the silent partner. He nodded his agreement.

"She's too meticulous and neat; too smart to make those mistakes." she elaborated. "She checks everything twice. She would never have left those footprints behind 'Ronald's.'"

"So Annie was killed and Ronald was framed to frame her."

"Our killer's not a people person," Eames surmised.

"We also know Thompson lied about where he's from."

"Hmm."

Goren interpreted this as incomprehension. "He speaks with a Spanish accent," he explained.

"Wow. Something I thought I would never get to say to you, Goren." She paused for effect, somewhat relishing the moment. "Duh."

He laughed at the insult. "No. I mean a _continental _accent, not Puerto Rican. He's from somewhere near Madrid."

"And Annie lived in Madrid," Eames said, understanding. "What are the odds that's a coincidence?" Goren opened his mouth. "Don't answer that," she said quickly.

"I was just going to say, maybe heknew her, but she- ."

"Didn't know him because he was stalking her."

"Could be," Goren reasoned. "Thompson came here seven years ago."

"And Annie came back from Spain a little less than eight years ago. A stalker with lousy taste." She pondered this a moment. "_If _he's lying. That 'accent' could just be a lisp."

Goren looked pleasantly surprised, which earned him a look of smug satisfaction. "You're not the only one who remembers useless junk from high school."

"Impressed," he admitted, "But I doubt it. His English is just fine. And the look on his face when I thanked him with the same accent - He was shaken, and it wasn't the look of someone who's lisp has been made fun of. But the important thing is just to stay safe until morning. Get some sleep."

"But wake me up if you want to." She bumped his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Hey, thanks for the sofa."

"It's no big deal. Didn't need to, to be honest. I've seen you flatten guys twice his size: _three_, in his case, really, if you wanted to."

"Yeah, but I really do appreciate that I never have to." She paused. She bit her lip before continuing tentatively. "You're worrying about what you saw."

"What I thought I saw."

"If you say you saw it, you did," she simplified.

"Wish I could believe that."

"_Bobby_," she said firmly, hoping to give him a jolt of mixed concern and scolding by using his first name, something she rarely did. "You are not your mother.

You're not destined to get sick. You're brilliant, and sane. Weird, but sane." The last bit got the laugh she'd been attempting to draw out.

"Thanks. It's easier to believe if you really think so."

"I do." She wrapped her arm over his shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. "Good night."

"'Night."

It was one o'clock in the morning, and here Goren sat awake in a "haunted" house, a murder to solve on his day off. Ridiculous.

The face he's seen popped into his mind. Maybe the stress really was getting to him that much. It was great that Eames wanted to be so reassuring, but that was the point: She _wanted _to be. She wasn't using impartial judgment. If it had been somebody else seeing a ghost, she would have brushed it off as... he tried to think of a good Eames line, but found nothing worthy of her sass. But he hadn't told even her just how worried about his mind he really was. He felt he lived every day with the calm, quiet knowledge that he would be in a halfway house before sixty. He had come to accept this with as much unworrying certainty as a person with osteoporosis knows that it's only a matter of time before she breaks a hip. He had prepared himself for that eventuality since he was twenty four - nearly half his life with that understanding. While his MMPI still showed him as, in Eames words, 'weird, but sane,' incidents like this hypomania worried him, and made him wonder just how long it would be before his family history came to claim him, too.

He wanted to have a look around the house, maybe understand exactly what he'd seen. It wasn't the bird: He'd seen a woman's face, not Joey, not Annie. He was

curious about what was upstairs, too. But he wouldn't leave his designated post until Eames was up, and he wasn't about to wake her. It could wait, although he was positively itching to see the body. Smell it, too.

Two o'clock, and his mind was in a state of complete disarray. He let it wander the room, since his body couldn't, remembering every detail he could, the smooth lines of the jukebox, the hard floor, which, he thought, with a moment of satisfaction, Steve McLaggen was sleeping on now. The tables on the side of the room left dark even in the daytime were where Joey, Thompson, and Ronald had made their beds, none of them too close together. Thompson, of course, had a bed upstairs, but refused to sleep with the other suspects out of earshot.

Finally, it was too much for him. He was going to be protective of course, but it stood to reason that no one could move without his seeing if he was in the dining room, where all the others were sleeping. The key to the knife drawer was still hanging noticeably from the fan. Good idea. That meant that Eames's and his arms should be the only weapons in the place.

There were very few windows in Eleanor's, and therefore very little light. By far the biggest was the jalousie window over Eames's sofa. There was another beside the table in the front where the two had sat when they'd come in. The third and last was a relatively small window over the jukebox. That was where the killer had gone to sneak around the back and kill Annie. At least, that was where the killer wanted everyone to think Joey/Ronald had left the room. The footprints weren't convincingly implicating either of them. He took in the room. The table in the corner with three wooden chairs beside the jukebox, the booth in the corner next to the one where he and Eames had sat. In the back left corner, where Steve was sleeping, the corner table with a simple chair, and the other booth, in the front left corner. The bar. Something was wrong. Three chairs. The table near the corner only had two open sides, the jukebox blocked the third. And the other corner table only had one chair. That didn't make sense. He peered at the chairs, trying to figure out which one hadn't been there earlier. One was at an odd angle to the table, no one could sit at it. He looked at the scuffs on the floor. It had been moved there from the jukebox. He stood on the chair and tried to imagine how he could get to the window. Well, _he _didn't need much help, but obviously the killer was shorter than he was. _Everyone _was shorter than he was. A shorter person would need an extra step. The jukebox. He felt the sides. The right side had a scuff on it. He leaned down to look. A tiny bit of mud, but mostly just a regular scuff. He smelled it. Just plastic, darn. Someone had gone, or at least tried to go out this window after they had turned down for the night. And he had missed it. He silently cursed himself. So the killer was right-handed. That didn't help. For there to be another left-handed person at Eleanor's that night would have been quite a statistical anomaly. Why could the killer have wanted to go out again? Usually, if a killer returned to the crime scene, was foolish enough to return to the crime scene, it was to look for evidence he or she left behind. That clicked somehow. The nonexistent leaf. The one he'd invented to distract them from Eames's...well, from Eames. The killer had thought he'd really seen something and gone back to look. This could be exactly what they needed. _Thank you, Eames and your obnoxious sense of humor, too. _ He tried, by the level of the scuffing, to figure out how tall the killer would have to be. Obviously pretty skinny. Not Thompson or Ronald. He pantomimed climbing up again, and stopped his hands before they could come to rest, as they would have, on the top of the jukebox. He lowered himself down and sniffed. Grease. Big deal, all Thompson _made _in this place was grease. Quite possibly, all of it was the _same _grease. Eames mushrooms might have had the exact same chemical composition as Ronald's fries, and both Steve and Joey (the only suspects that fit the size requirements) had eaten something.

The sun was coming up. He frowned. No one was waking up yet, but they would be soon. He resumed his post.

"Smell anything good?" Eames mumbled, barely awake.

"Just grease."

"In abundance, I'll bet. I don't suppose you got to the body?"

"Didn't leave the main room."

She sat up. "I don't sleep well at a crime scene. Let's go smell, I mean look at, the body." He nodded and handed her back her sidearm.

Eames stood by the coat rack, waiting for him to put his jacket on, and something caught her attention. "Hey, Goren, look at this." She pointed to Annie's coat. "What do you know: We're not the only ones who paid attention in Spanish class. Look at these lift tags. Aspen, Loveland, Keystone, Vail. All in the Rockies, and all of them during the time Annie was supposedly in Spain being stalked." She shook her head. "Keeping lift tickets for all the world to see. Pathetic. Mine go in the recycling bin."

"Steve heard the accent and tried to put them in the same place at the same time."

"So Thompson said he was from Puerto Rico so we wouldn't all assume it was him. Everyone's been framed _except _Steve. That's not suspicious."

"Well, we haven't," Goren pointed out

"Well, I don't exactly count _us _as suspects." She looked up with head tilted away from him and a smirk on her face. "Unless... you finally snapped, didn't you?"

He smiled, but then a confused look crossed his face. "So the face I saw...I really did h-"

"No. You didn't," she said firmly, then furrowed her brow and snapped her fingers. "You saw the glow-in-the-dark paint, right?"

"That wasn't what-"

But she was halfway across the room, muttering, "What if that wasn't enough for Thompson?" She headed for the stairs, lost in thought and completely ignoring Goren, who felt slighted. _She _wasn't supposed to do that. He suddenly realized how difficult he must be to work with. It was a good thing Deakins had decided to try them out as partners, a good thing she'd given it a chance. If she had ever tried to get reassigned, it would have been too much for him. Of course, if he found someone else he could work with, it would be okay for him-

"Hey, slowpoke, get up here! I found something!" she hissed down the stairs.

He headed up the stairs and into the door to Thompson's home. He found Eames looking more gleeful and smug than she had when he couldn't figure out a smell, an incident she'd gotten _way _too much of a kick out of. She was holding something very long from a hanger. She moved her hand from the hanger down a length of fishing wire, to a life-size cutout of a woman in an old fashioned dress, bits of white fabric pinned on to flesh it out. She held out the fuzzy, vague picture of a face. "Meet Eleanor," she said happily. "You should listen to me more often."

"I always listen to you," he said defensively, not paying much attention. "Steve was up here. Went through the back door and down those stairs to kill Annie-"

"And used Thompson's nifty little prop to make sure that someone saw a woman going around the back."

"We better get downstairs before the others wake up. They already think there's something weird about us," Goren pointed out.

"Well, you know-" she quit what she was going to say and smiled. "Nah, that one's just too easy."

They went back to sitting on the sofa, and within a few minutes, everyone else had come awake.

"The roads are clear. Someone needs to get the police," Joey said.

"Goren?" Eames asked, hoping the others would let him go, as everyone else was a suspect. And someone showing up at the police station with a badge and telling them that there was a murder and his partner might be in trouble would get a _much _better response from a cop than if the story came from any old Joe. But the others didn't know all that, and convincing them without giving them all the information might be tough.

Apparently convincing Goren would be tougher. "No way, I'm not leaving you here."

Her jaw set in annoyance. Ridiculous. "Goren, you're not my big brother."

"Yeah, I know," he grumbled.

"_I'll _go," Eames insisted, ignoring the tone of his voice. "It makes sense: everyone knows I couldn't have done it." She patted her nephew, grateful. "I'll need directions to the police station, Thompson."

"Yeah, I got a phone book. I keep tellin' 'em I got no phone, but they keep delivering the stupid thing anyway. You'll wanna get Sheriff Merril." He tore the map out

the phone book and handed it to her. She passed Goren a glance. _Be careful_. He nodded.

"Nothing to do but wait." They all sat down in separate corners and stayed in them for about an hour, no one saying anything, other than a 'can I have a cup of coffee?' or an occasional, 'this really sucks.'

Goren thought for a moment. He might still be able to use that distraction, the nonexistent evidence. "I need some fresh air." He stood.

"I don't think you should do that," Steve commented. Goren walked out the door, catching, but not responding to, the rest of the conversation.

"Who cares?" Joey asked. "The rest of us are all here, so if he's the killer, he can't exactly knock anybody off. And if he _were _the killer, he wouldn't have been worried about his friend, would he?"

"What if he's not?" Ronald asked. "He shouldn't be walking around on his own."

"But we're all here," said Thompson. "So if somebody here leaves and he gets killed, we'll know who did it. Besides, who's dumb enough to attack _him_? He's the size of a Buick."

Goren counted himself lucky to find the back door of the kitchen open. Actually, he couldn't believe Thompson would be dumb enough to leave it open, but better for him. Annie was there, of course, but at this point, seeing the body wasn't his main objective. His main objective was walking in through the back door of the kitchen.

"Shouldn't you be in the dining room, Steve? It'll look a little suspicious if you leave the room and I end up dead, wouldn't it? And, um, no offense, but..." he laughed a little, the way he did to irritate perps, and made a gesture at his size to complete the sentence. "Any you..." He remained calm, reached for his sidearm, hoping he wouldn't have to get it out, let alone use it. "I know what you did, Steve. I haven't told anyone."

"Not even that whore you're pallin' around with?"

Goren clenched his jaw, looking very much like he was two seconds away from flattening Steve, but composed himself. He made a dismissive gesture. "Ah, why the hell would I tell her?" He asked in the angry tone he sometimes put on. "But I did write it down, and I put it somewhere where they'll find it later." He was making it up as he went along. "I can get that paper and burn it. I'd rather do that. I could keep your secret, Steve." He was moving closer, making non-threatening, cat body language- inviting a bond. "I'm sure we could work something out, hm?" He continued to move toward him, head down at his level, getting into his space again. If he could just get close enough to cuff him without any struggle...

But Steve quickly slipped to the opposite side of the dishwasher, slamming the door down and open just a few inches from the floor, an effective road block. And unfortunately for Goren, Thompson had neglected to lock away the knives in the dishwasher. Now he had a block _and _a weapon. Goren's sidearm flew out, but as Steve lunged, Eames was behind him with handcuffs at the ready, and got him restrained easily, passed him to Goren. "Officer Merril's out front," she told him.

"Are you nuts? You can't just put people in handcuffs!"

"No," Eames corrected, reaching for her badge. "See, detectives on the Major Case Squad can do _exactly _that. Steve McLaggen, you are under arrest for murder.

You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you."

In the same official tone, she continued, "Why are you struggling? In case you haven't noticed, my partner is huge and could squash you like a bug. He really doesn't want to do that, and would be annoyed if you made him. I, on the other hand, would find it hysterical, so you're going to have to decide which of us you want to make happy."

Watching Steve getting taken away by Officer Merril was a woman in an old-fashioned light pink dress, and blonde and silver hair pulled back in a modest bun. She smiled as Steve was put in the car. She couldn't feel joy for the murder, but was pleased to know that that foul woman would never darken her door again, or bother her gracious guest, whom she'd come to like. As three crows haunted her hanging tree over the peaceful water, she wished his benefactors well.

Thompson was dumbfounded at their revelation. "You knew this whole time?"

"Of course not," Eames said regretfully. "If we had, we wouldn't have let Annie die. We were here by accident."

"So why _were _you here?" Ronald answered.

Goren, Eames, and Thompson answered in unison. "The _mushrooms_."

Apologies to Steve Fischer and Joey Fortman, who are not married (to each other), not annoying mean jerks, not country bumpkins (no. . . wait, that one's only half true ;p ), and as far as I know, not murderers, either.


	5. So Many Things

Haunted

by LMR

Part 2: Nobody Knows

Warning, warning: this is a romance. Turn back all anti A/B 'shippers! (If you're not decided-try it out: maybe this will convince you!) I think I did a pretty good job of making it seem in character, but I know some people just don't want it to be this way. :p If that's you, and you don't like the B/A pairing (I pity da fool! -- No, not that B.A., although, yes I pity you!) for smeg's sake just quit reading! I don't want to get a bunch of flames about what a geek I am (believe me, I already know that. Don't bother callin' me crazy, either. Hell, yeah: and I got the MMPI to prove it, baby!). For those other romantic fools out there here's a lame-o love story!

Chapter 1: So Many Things

Disclaimer: I think authors and actors should read the fanfiction they help to create. This is _the one case_, however, where I say the actors should not read about 90 of the fanfiction written about their characters. Their acting ability would be severely cramped due to the fact that they would be too embarrassed to even look at each other for a year. That's because it's written by people like me who could never possibly write for the show

Part 2 is rated T for language and sexuality.

**THIS IS WHERE THE STORY STARTS!**

Dear Alex,

I'm really sorry about this. I wish I didn't have to, but I really think it's best. You're a fantastic cop and you've been a great friend. I'll always think about you and miss you.

Lo

Goodbye,

Bobby

The resignation was left on the captain's desk with another note. No address or phone number. The captain tried his cell. "Disconnected," he told the room.

Eames jaw was clenched, and it seemed to the captain that she was trying to hide her eyes.

"Bastard."

It was only a little after five, but the sun was already starting to turn the sky pink. The day wasn't dead just yet, but it was promising a beautiful sunset over the Chicago skyline; over "Eden Healing House." It was a trite name for an unpleasant place that tried for all the world to disguise itself as a place people actually _wanted _to be, rather than where people went as a last resort. Bobby Goren, who had reached that last resort, as he always knew he would, had made this his hideout. It was a cage, like a shark cage, not meant to keep him in, but to keep everyone else out. Now he was startled to realize that he couldn't remember the last time he'd really enjoyed a sunset. There was a knock on the door. He looked up from his puzzle. Probably Teddy. Sometimes he wanted to play Uno or checkers. Bobby didn't have the heart to tell him that he was annoying. "Unlocked," he said, going back to the puzzle.

"Nice to see you, too," came a flat, familiar voice from the doorframe.

He nearly hit the ceiling. After five years...it couldn't be. He was almost afraid to look. He would see someone else there.

"Eames," he said quietly, still not sure he hadn't finally cracked: _audio-visual hallucinations, particularly in schizophrenia or manic-depression usually took the form of-_ his mind raced through all this in a microsecond, barely processing that he was already across the room and practically choking her in a hug.

"Squishing me," she confirmed, taking her arms off him. He held her at arms length. Her hair was halfway silver now instead of just bits of it peeking out from under the blonde. She looked worn out, but she smiled, and though she looked a little sadder, he could still plainly see the Eames he'd left five years ago. But he was even older, and certainly more worn out, and he wondered how he must look. Probably like he'd aged fifteen years instead of five. "You look great," he said simply.

"Yeah, and you look short."

He smiled. He could be certain it was no hallucination now: A remark like that one was pure, one-hundred percent Alex Eames. He was shocked and upset to find that the first thing he looked at after her face was her left hand. Upon finding it bare, he was even _more _shocked and upset to feel a little leap deep in his stomach. _Stop_, he told himself. _I don't- _

"You found me?" he asked confounded, asking not so much _how? _as _why? _He gestured to the chair.

She remained standing. "I'm a detective, Goren, weird how that works." She paused. "I thought I'd have some trouble getting in, but funniest thing, they all seemed to know my name. Some guy named Teddy even recognized me on sight." She smiled a little.

"Wow, I had no idea he had such an incredible memory that he could take a brief description of a person from a few years ago and recognize a face. He's a bright man, Teddy. Annoying, but bright." He didn't seem to be trying to hard to come up with a cover story.

Eames smiled wryly as she gestured toward a photo on the dresser, "Right." It was framed in silver with the colored glass accent of a yellow rose. She wasn't looking at the camera, and she was laughing. "I don't remember that picture," she commented. "I hate it."

"I took it with my phone the day before I left. You never laughed. I mean, I thought it would be nice to have one, I guess." He shrugged.

"Well, don't be embarrassed. I have one, too." She took out her wallet and opened to the pictures.

Goren rifled through the pictures, examined the ones of her nephew, he'd be nine now. "Wow," he commented. "He's gotten so big. Growing into a handsome guy."

"The Backache?" It was her affectionate nickname for her nephew, a reminder every time they spoke that she was more than his aunt. "Yeah, well mostly he's growing into an obnoxious little smart-aleck."

"Huh." Goren put on his best thinking expression. "You sure he's your sist- ow," he finished laughing.

He looked again at his own photo. He remembered when she'd taken it. They'd been at a holiday party. He was looking up from the floor shyly, clearly not

wanting his picture taken. His smile was somewhat guilty and sheepish and a tiny bit relieved, and he remembered why that was, too. He hadn't been smiling until Eames remarked, "At least I'm pretty sure my nephew (he was two at the time) is too mature to go deleting _your _picture." He'd smiled then. It was nice to be comically forgiven.

"Older one. Prefer to remember me younger, huh?"

"I prefer to not have to _remember _you," she said coldly.

He looked a little guilty, looked back at the picture, and pulled something out from behind it. "The note, too?" His expression showed his surprise.

"Yeah, well I _shouldn't _carry that. It makes me want to punch you." She paused. "It hurt, Bobby. It was like a kick in the gut that you didn't even want to talk to me, to say goodbye. I thought I meant more to you than that." It looked like she was trying not to cry.

"I didn't leave that way because of y- I didn't leave that way because I didn't want to talk to you. I really did. I'm sorry," he said, looking at the floor. "It was the wrong thing to do. I regret it all the time."

"Sure you do, that's why you call so often," she said icily.

"I thought about it. But I was afraid of what you might say. Then, the more time passed, the more afraid I was that you wouldn't want to talk to me again."

"For a genius you're pretty stupid."

He just nodded sadly. The fact that he didn't even attempt to defend himself from this onslaught struck a chord of guilt in her. She rested her hand on his shoulder and squeezed a little, then finally pulled up the chair. "I'm sorry. I didn't come here to yell at you."

"I deserve it."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I didn't try to find out if you were okay, did I? What kind of partner or friend was I to not check on you when I knew that you were in trouble? So I'd say we're even. Arguing is a stupid way to spend the time I'll be here. A week," she clarified. "I came because I really wanted to see you again. There are so many things I want to talk about, so many things I'd forgotten, things that are just rushing right back into my head as soon as I see you." She bit her lip. "A lot's happened. You missed a wedding you should have been the best man at."

It felt like someone dumped ice into Goren's blood. "You got married?" he managed to choke.

"No, Lewis."

His brain wasn't functioning properly. "To Lewis?"

She laughed. "Oh, God no! _Lewis _got married. He was pretty upset that you weren't there."

He nodded. "I should have been." He tried to put on the appropriate affect of sadness rather than heart-cartwheeling relief.

"He sends his love and asked me to smack you for him. Let's don't and say we did, huh?"

"Thanks."

"Why did you go, Bobby?"

Goren looked at his feet, feeling like he was being scolded. "After I broke down I just...I never wanted you to see me like this."

"Gray?" She teased, with only a hint of a smile. "Because you know, you were already..." she let her voice trail off.

He laughed just a little. "Broken," he answered.

Her face sobered, and she sat beside him on the bed. "I know that I don't know what it feels like to be you, nobody knows, but I can tell that the past five years

haven't been good to you. And I know cutting people off is never good for _anyone's _mental health. And I'm being selfish, too: I miss you," she added.

He nodded sadly. "Yeah, I'vemissed you, too." He tried to think of something to say. "I always thought about how you were doing, hoping things were going okay for you. So how has your life been?"

"Yech, you had to ask. Well, to start, I just retired."

He was shocked. "You just turned fifty-one a few months ago."

She smiled sadly. "Two years younger than you left. Ironic, huh? Everyone thought I was the stable one. I got frustrated. Well, truth is, they couldn't find a

partner for me. I was so impatient with all of them, they weren't good enough. And, I was. . . different. I think, being your partner, I sort of ended up like a piece of wood left out in the rain that gets all twisted up."

"In other words, I..." he couldn't think of a word.

"You warped me."

"Sorry about that."

"Don't be." She looked at him. "I'm the better for it. Although my habits of smelling crime scenes, touching everything, climbing into everything, and basically just being a major pain in the ass tended to annoy people. But I couldn't pull it off so well. And all my prospective partners said, what was it? Oh, yeah, I was an 'acquired taste.'" He laughed a little. She was so glad to see he could laugh at that. Her face turned truly bitter for a moment. "It was when I got the same message from my dates that I worried. You know eharmony turned me away," she attempted to put a note of pride into the assertion. It didn't work.

"I thought they never turned anybody away. Except you know, gays, lesbians, bisexuals, trangenders, non-Christians, people who don't mind dating outside their

race," he tallied them off on his fingers. "Other than that, I didn't think they discriminated. Not just for being weird, anyway."

"Gee, thanks. Nice to know you've gotten obnoxious in your old age."

"I'm not the only one whose lousy habits rubbed off. I've become a cynical smart aleck. But seriously, what did they say?"

"That they wouldn't be able to find a match for me."

"That's about the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You're great. You're smart, you're funny, you're se- Guy would be lucky to have you."

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Thanks, know any?"

"I don't think Teddy has a girlfriend."

"No thanks. What about you?"

"Most women are a little put off by a guy in an insane asylum."

"Yeah, well, in that case, their IQs must be a little low for you anyway." He tried to smile.

She looked at the puzzle he was doing. She slipped a piece into place.

"I was going to do that one next, I swear," he said, pretending his dignity was somehow marred.

Not listening, she picked up the box. It was a different picture than the puzzle. "What kind of puzzle's this?"

"Mystery puzzle. Put it together, read the story, solve the crime."

"Hm. That oughta be tough."

"More than you'd think, really," he remarked. "I tend to look too hard for answers; think too much." He smiled. "One time, there was a stack of books on a desk, all the same author. I knew they were important. I did everything I could think of. I translated the copyright dates into chronologically ordered alpha-numeric code, I looked at the angles of the books as they were stacked, even with a protractor." She rolled her eyes. Who kept a _protractor _in a halfway house? "I looked at the books left of the shelf, looked up the names of all the characters, all kinds of things. Teddy came in one day. Didn't read the story, looked at it for five seconds and told me who the killer was."

"The first letter of the titles spelled out the name, didn't it?" She asked, amused.

"Yup."

"Genius at work."

"Speaking of my not being very smart, it's past six, you've been here for nearly an hour, and I haven't even asked if you wanted anything to drink. There's stuff in the kitchen, lots of things; we can get it whenever we want. Are you hungry? I know some great restaurants."

"I don't want to go out. I want a large pizza and a larger beer."

He grinned. "Home Run Inn it is. He grabbed his cell phone. "They don't actually allow alcohol here. Most of us can't drink because of the meds, and the others don't want to anyway. Alecia always says she couldn't imagine anyone _wanting _to put their brain out of their own control. The others pretty much agree."

"With the rep I seem to have around here, they might know it would be dangerous to tell me I can't." she prodded, hoping to know just what kind of reputation it was she had, anyway.

"What exactly do you think I've been telling them that they'd be scared of you?"

"The truth."

"Of course I have. So only good things."

"You've gone senile, too." She paused, decided she could ask a personal question. "Are _you _on any medication?"

"I took Welubtrin for a little while, but they took me off that one, too manic, now I'm not on anything."

"Why are you here, Bobby?"

He set down the phone and sighed, looking like he was afraid to face her. "I had my own place for a while, but I couldn't keep it up, couldn't trust myself to take care of myself properly."

"Don't be ashamed," she told him, seeing the look on his face. "It took a lot of courage to come here, Eden House I mean." She bit her tongue before she could start on the "shouldn't have left" thing again. "A coward is the person who won't let himself get help. You did the right thing."

"I'm not now." She looked confused. "I've leveled out. I don't need twenty-four/seven watching. Now it's a crutch. And even though I know that, I still won't give it up. It's pathetic, really."

"The only thing that's pathetic is talking about how pathetic you feel and not trying to fix it."

He looked startled at her rebuke, then smiled. "Nothing like getting some sense drilled into me when I need it. Everyone's so delicate all the time. I've gone five years without getting a good tongue lashing. Thanks. You're right. I need to quit thinking I need someone looking over my shoulder."

Alex thought for a moment, trying to find something to say that wouldn't sound trite or condescending, that wouldn't belittle what he was feeling, but would cheer him up.

"Bobby, _no one _can look over your shoulder." They laughed again. She squeezed his hand. "You'll figure it out in your own time."

"You laughed," he observed, almost awestruck. "You never laughed."

She shrugged. "Your good humor is contageous, dammit."

Ten o'clock had come and gone and so had the pizza. The two were still sitting in the room, taking a look at photos and explaining happenings of the past five years. She told him about some interesting cases and smells she'd investigated with various substandard detectives. He found himself beaming with pride at his partner's brilliance.

"I really have to get back to the hotel. Your housemates will start talking," she added flatly. She put her coat on. "What time should I come by?"

"Well, I'm usually up by five, so I-"

"See you at five fifteen, then." She hugged him again.

"Thanks for coming, Alex. I needed it. And...I'm sorry I left."

"It's okay. I'm glad I came, I needed it, too." He looked sad again as she started for the door. "Hey, tomorrow I'll be right back here again, okay? I promise," she reassured him.

He watched her leave the building and go to her car.

The sunset was so beautiful.

Medical Disclaimer: Best friend and/or soulmate is no substitution for proper medical treatment.


	6. Something to Talk About

Disclaimer: Hello, LMR. I want to play a game. For years you have wasted hours on a computer typing out the lives of imaginary people you didn't even create. Now we will find out how much you _appreciate _your creativity. Your computer is wired to a system of electric shocks. You have three hours to type a ten chapter story. If you do not, LMR, there will be enough electricity in your body to light your entire city for five days. And I should tell you, the keyboard is wired to give you a small reminder shock every time you mention the name of someone else's character. How many dumb cliches will you use to make a disclaimer? Live or write fanfiction: Make your choice.

Goren (OUCH!) and Eames (EEEEK!) don't belong to me. Neither does $#in' Jigsaw (AACK), but the Saw Uncut DVD taught me that if your fanfiction is bad enough, they might mention it in the commentary! Hey, Vincent, Kathryn; are you reading this garbage????

BTW: After I wrote this disclaimer I saw _Saw III_, and I'm sorry, but I really can't resist:

I SOLVED IT! I SOLVED IT!

"Told you I'd be here," she said, reaching up to hug him. "What'll we do today?"

"I don't really have any plans," he said, sounding guilty.

"Okay, we can do the puzzle. How dare you be solving cases without me!"

As expected, the puzzle was easier, not too mention a lot more fun with Eames, with _Alex _right there. Nothing could be better. He started tilting his head to the side and giving the suspects in the picture a funny look.

Alex giggled. _(Alex can _giggle"These perps aren't going to get creeped out, dear. You're wasting your weird."

Whether it was the difference in the way they were speaking to each other, the words, or the feeling of sitting side by side with nary a centimeter between them, an awkward look shadowed both faces. They both looked at the floor, as if searching the grain for something to talk about. Best friends should have _something _to talk about. But she'd been here for four hours, and Bobby felt he wasn't being a very good host. Finally, he stood. "Come on, I'll show you Chicago. Ever been here?" She shook her head, and he smiled. "You're in for a treat. Aquarium first."

Alex was about to pipe up that she really didn't care about pretty fish, but he was grinning broadly, and she figured it would be better for both of them if they got out of the house for a while. She guessed that he didn't leave very often.

"I don't leave the house very often, but this place is all voluntary, no one dangerous or anything, so as long as I check in by four o'clock every day and let them know if I'm staying out overnight, I can go where I want. You won't believe the Shedd, they've got sharks and everything."

The woman at the front counter had long black hair, a flowing red skirt and a friendly demeanor. She passed the checkout papers to Bobby. Upon noticing Alex, she perked up. "Oh, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend, Bobby?"

"Oh, sorry. Alex, this is Sarah Celeste Fallenti. Essie, Alex Eames."

S.C.'s jaw nearly hit the counter. "You! Good to meet the woman that hung the moon. Heard all aboot you. Good things," she assured her, probably misinterpreting the shock on Eames's face. "Glad you're here! Maybe now he'll quit mopin' aroond! Getting him out of his room was quite an accomplishment." Her expression changed a bit. "But be nice to him, eh? He always says if you ever saw him again, you'd probably kick him in the shins."

"I'll pass, even if he does deserve it just a little bit."

"Hm, he says that, too. Have fun."

Up ahead was the huge round tank that sat in the middle of the aquarium. The animals, sharks and all, swam together leisurely, having no apparent interest in devouring each other. Alex had just spotted an eel peering cautiously out from a rock. "Oh, look," she dragged him by the arm to side of the tank, wanting to get closer before he retreated. "What kind of eel is that?"

" (_Note to self: look up information on interesting exotic eel_.) "

"Oh, that's neat," she said, looking at the retreating eel she'd just learned all about. They started walking again, and it was a few moments before Bobby realized that his arm was still being held captive. Now it occurred to him that they'd spent most of the time since they'd gotten out of the car touching somehow. Alex paid no attention, and he wondered if she'd not noticed, or -

"Hey, what's up?" He felt a tug on his arm, answering his question. She was looking at him, confused.

"Oh, sorry, just wasn't thinking." She raised an eyebrow doubtfully, but didn't make a smart remark. She also didn't let go. "You know," he commented, "You're a lot more fun to hang around with when there are no dead bodies around."

"I have no idea if that was a compliment."

"It was supposed to be. Was it that bad?"

"Yeah. But you're right. This is better." She paused, and seemed to catch what was confusing him. "I suppose you want your arm back, huh?"

"No, not really," he said without thinking. She seemed to like this answer, and Bobby was amazed at how quickly it became the norm, and how easily they fell into it.

He was standing in front of a large tank, mesmerized. "Pufferfish. Amazing defense mechanism, make themselves look intimidating even though they're really not."

"Like you?" Eames asked, amused.

He smiled, looking nearly embarrassed, but recovered quickly. "You know, the Japanese, they make this dish called fugu. They remove the poison sack, but the trick is, that is has to be done precisely right, no mistakes, or it's fatal. It's the same stuff they use to make zombies in Haiti, you know. Anyway, it takes years of school and even a license to be able to make them - the fish, not the zombies..."

At this point he noticed that Eames was looking down, shaking her head, but smiling.

"What?"

She cracked up. "I missed you."

He looked down at the floor, almost shyly, and she reached on tiptoe to hug him around the neck. She paused there, uncertain, and finally kissed him briefly on the cheek. "You're sniffing me," she pointed out to the side of his head, bemused.

"Um." He looked like he wanted to join the pufferfish in the tank to get away from the look she was giving him. She paused, then reached up and sniffed his head.

"Hasn't changed," she said simply.

He looked ridiculously awkward and she shook his arm again. "Tell me about the zombies," she urged.

\

Review please, or the review police will come to get you! By all means rake my writing. I have lots of bad habits like putting too many things in italics and too many elipses...

I really want to improve. Rip it apart, I can take it!


	7. What Won't We

Haunted

Part 2: Nobody Knows

Disclaimer: You know, those anti B/A 'shippers might just have a point - I mean, really, if Mulder and Scully can manage to keep it professional, surely these... oh... well, if Mulder and Scully jumped off a bridge! This is a _completely _different situation than that, anyway. Mulder and Scully had kind of a unique thing. I mean, with Mulder, you had this guy that was teetering on the brink of nutcase and no one could stand to be around him for five minutes, let _alone _be his partner, so Scully was kind of the only one who ever would be a love match for him, since she could, you know, tolerate him. He talked off everyone's ear about her. I mean, really, he got so dependent on her that when the actress had to go on maternity leave and Scully had to be gone for a couple months, he went absolutely stir-crazy, irritable and pouty and refused to work with anyone else. Well, the point I'm trying to make is that if Dick Wolf tries to sue me, I'll just drop a line to Chris Carter.

Chapter 7: What Won't We

Alex reached the door eight minutes before they had arranged to meet. She knocked anyway, knowing he would be up, dressed, and waiting on the other side of the door. He was. He greeted her with a kiss on the head, a gesture he'd only ever made once, when the Backache was born and he'd come to visit her in the hospital with thirteen flowers: a dozen blue carnations and one yellow rose. ("Congratulate me, drag me back to work, whatever," she'd said.)

'Where are we going?"

"You'll see," he said, but by now she could see they were passing several street portrait artists, and she was getting a lousy idea.

"I want a new picture."

"No, way, the picture you have is just fine."

"You said you hated it," he pointed out.

"Well, that was before I knew you were going to ask for another one. My hair's _blonde _in that picture, I like that picture."

"No, I love the way your hair looks now, I want a new picture." She was scowling, but the pouting did her in, and she sat. "I get a new one, too, then."

"No way," he said dismissively. "I look terrible."

"Hypocrite."

The artist had started and now he laughed a little. "I don't think you're gonna get your picture, lady."

She was grinning. "Oh, yes, I will. I can twist his arm."

He laughed again. "A pushover, huh?"

"No, she means she can restrain me."

"Yup."

"What's your name, dear?" Eames found it pleasant that this artist was old enough to call her 'dear.'

"Alex. This nitwit who dragged me over here is Bobby."

"Nice to meet you, Nitwit," he nodded to Bobby. "Name's Soot. Edgar Soot." Goren looked a little puzzled at the name. That sounded so-

"Well, at least he picked a good artist," she said, looking at some of the finished work.

"Yeah, you're much better than the last one," Bobby commented, looking at Alex for a reaction. "'Course he was a murderer, might've slanted my opinion a little."

This gave Edgar pause, but he continued and if none of this had sounded unusual.

"You remember that?" Alex said, sounding halfway between curious and nervous.

"'Course. Fun assignment."

"No it wasn't. You nearly blew our cover making me laugh. I hated that one."

"What's so funny about it?"

"You were hitting on me, it was creepy."

"Gee, thanks. Anyway, all I did was say you were pretty."

"Well, thanks, I guess, it's just that it's so weird to hear it from _you_."

"Well, we had to pretend to be _married_, too. That never seemed to bother you."

"That was easy, all I had to do was yell at you. I thought that was fun."

"So I guess turning bright pink and studying the sidewalk weren't for the benefit of the artist/killer?"

"_No_," she said with finality, doing the same thing.

He turned away from her and spoke in a voice that sounded as though he didn't know whether he wanted her to hear or not. "Yeah, well, it got confusing when we had to act." He looked up thoughtfully, and said a little clearer, "Of course, I was _lying_." She looked at him incredulously. "That picture was _terrible_. Not nearly as-" he quit before he finished whatever he'd been about to say and looked at the ground, seeming bored.

"Hey, lady," the artist piped up. "If you keep changing colors like that, this is gonna take another hour." He winked, friendly.

It only took a few more minutes, however. Eames held it up when he was done so they could both see. "Great. Almost as b-"

"Don't even _think _about finishing that sentence. What're we doing today?"

"What won't we?"

"That means you haven't planned anything."

"Wrong, dear Watson, First, we're eating lunch. Then, we turn day two into night one and a half."

"First of all, if you call me Watson again, you'll be limping back to the house."

"Aw, you wouldn't kneecap me, would you?"

"Who said anything about your knee?" He winced. "And second, apparently what we're doing today is confusing Alex. What the heck is all that night stuff? Always talking in riddles."

He laughed a little. "You'll see what I mean later." He steered her to a street vendor. "Two hotdogs." The vendor reached for the mustard and after coating the first, moved to the other.

Alex spoke up before he could contaminate it. "Just ketchup for me."

"No!" Goren sounded upset. "No, are you kidding? They can _prosecute _you for ketchup in Chicago."

She sighed. "I don't care about immersing myself in the local cultural cuisine."

"Tough. You're not getting ketchup. I won't let you. It's an experience."

She raised an eyebrow. Damn childlike enthusiasm. "Okay, fine. Do whatever you're doing to his."

"Oh, and ketchup for the fries, please," he added.

She looked at him aghast.

"Well, it's allowed on the _fries_," he insisted.

They sat on a park bench, Alex still shooting him dirty looks about the state of her hotdog. She didn't remember his ever wanting ketchup on fries anyway. Sure enough, he didn't touch it. And as soon as he looked away, she swiped some off his plate with her finger and spread it on the hotdog, playing innocent when he looked back. "You rotten cheater," he laughed. "Gimme that." He grabbed at the hotdog, as if he were earnestly trying to take it away, starting a tug of war, playing like puppies. She ducked her head to bite his hand away, then stopped short, nervous. For some reason, it had taken a moment to even occur to her that that _wasn't _the way she should be acting.

"Oh, fine, take it," she gave in, taking her hands off it and looking hastily away. He set it down on the plate of ketchup and held it out for her, mock defeated.

"So what was that gibberish about night, anyway?"

Bobby grinned and pointed to the building in front of them.

"Adler Planetarium," she read off the sign. "Geek," she surmised, smiling.

"It's a quest for intellectual treasure," he said, pretending to be wounded.

"Geeky," she reiterated, batting a gnat out of her face and dragging him toward the entrance.

A woman named Jody checked them at the door. "Two, senior discount, enjoy!" she said cheerfully.

"Bobby do you still carry your sidearm?"

Jody had the decency to look very guilty. "She means for herself, not you," he assured the greeter. "I think." He turned back to Alex with a burst of inspiration. "_I _bought both tickets, she was talking about me. I'm fifty-eight. And you're..." he pretended for a moment to be counting, she glowered - "obviously _not _fifty-eight," he saved.

She couldn't help but laugh a little.

In the star dome, Alex couldn't see without straining her neck. The chairs were inadequately cushie. On top of that, they weren't broad enough for Bobby's

shoulders and he took up part of her seat, too. Well, fine, it was _her _seat, and if he was going to commandeer it, tough for him. It would be softer than the stupid chair anyway. She plopped her head down. She felt him jump just a little when her head hit, and briefly wondered if it had been such a great idea after all. She attempted to see his face, and in the process, found her head in at a much more awkward angle than it had been before she'd made him an involuntary pillow. She couldn't see him anyway, but his arm relaxed, and he seemed to read right into her worries. "Make yourself comfortable," he offered, amused.

"Um-hmm."

They sat that way for a few minutes, seeming almost not to notice that there was anything at all out of the ordinary about the way they were sitting; as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I'm sorry I called it geeky," She commented a while later, the Eye of God formation looking down at them from the dome. "This is really wonderful, Bobby."

"Yeah. It is." He sounded surprised, and she looked at him to see why. She was simultaneously shocked, frightened, and thrilled that he was looking down at her, obviously enjoying their closeness. He seemed a little abashed to have been caught staring, but seemed to steel himself up. As he closed his eyes, his head leaning to the right and toward her, a thousand thoughts and feelings raced through Alex's mind. This was wrong, really, but it was wonderful, too. It even felt kind of normal. She had to know, and knew she would never forgive herself is she let this opportunity slip. It was too compelling. Most importantly, she couldn't hurt him. He was putting himself out, vulnerable and it would be wrong to make him feel like he shouldn't have. Or maybe, she thought, she was using that as an excuse. She wasn't really sure, to be honest. And she was finding she didn't care.

All of this slipped through her in one moment, before she found her own eyes closing and her face moving toward him. He hesitated a little, as a way of asking permission. It struck her as cute. But he was not backing out. She lunged, and after just a few seconds, he pulled away. Just for one more moment, she chased him, _Just a little more, please_. And in that last second, she made it clear, communicating with just her mouth that this had better not be all he was planning. Then it was over, and eyes averted instantly. Despite the shockwaves it sent through both of them, the kiss had lasted only a moment. If it made either of them awkward, it didn't show. They didn't distance themselves from each other even an inch, although they steadfastly insited on looking anywhere but at each other. They returned to looking at the stars curled up together, both glad that the darkness hid their faces. Attempting to make sure he wasn't worried about what she was thinking, she squeezed her head further up into his arm and listened, pleasantly dazed and happy, as he explained the mythology of every constellation in every culture since the days of protohumans. She didn't really care, but with the childlike eagerness in his voice, and this strengthened bond between them, it was by far the best history lesson she'd ever had.

By the time they left each other for the night, they had both chosen to "forget" what had happened under the stars. 

"Good night" was all they could say. What spoke the loudest was that they were both still too scared to even meet each other's gaze, and for the first time during her visit, refused to hug goodbye.

Alex spent the night very confused. Whether it was right or wrong was a moot point, it had happened. _ I've always, well, no, not really, it's just that-_ She tried to sort out her feelings and did what she considered a rather miserable job of it. And there was something else, something about... direction, an angle? Something that should couldn't put her finger on, something that had struck her as significant at the time, but didn't come to her now. How could two people communicate so profoundly _(friendship, closeness, comfort, fearlessness, intimacy, desire, affection)_, then be afraid to talk about it? She settled down for the first of several restless, confused nights.

I want to state for the record that I have no knowledge of the cushiness of Adler's chairs, having not been there since I was ten. Uncomfortable chairs are really convenient for stories like this. I succumb to cliche.

Please review what you think of this, one of ten million versions of a first kiss. Well written? Tripe? Of course, I imagine you'll all just tell me I should have added more tongue. ;p


	8. The Garden

Haunted

By LMR

Disclaimer: Jurassic Park Q&A: Is a fanfiction writer a meat-asaurus or a veggie-saurus?

Neither, she's a parasitolophus: a fossil who leeches off other people's writing. This parasitolophus owns neither Law and Order: Criminal Intent, nor _Jurassic Park_, which I kind of borrow here. (Of course, you won't recognize it if you're some kind of _hooligan _who skips the book and only watches the movie!)

Part 2: Nobody Knows

Chapter 8: The Garden

Eames's third day in Chicago was museum day. They were at the Field Museum at the moment, after first trying a trip to the Museum of Science and Industry, which Bobby grudgingly cut short after realizing, during his treatise on early aircraft, that Alex was practically falling asleep standing up. Strange, she loved this stuff. She insisted that they could stay, of course it was interesting, but seeing as they only had one week, Bobby decided he would prefer if they stayed conscious during most of that time. He was tired, too, but then, that was because he'd had a total of two and a half hours sleep. He'd been tossing and turning and worrying all night.

It was late morning, and due to two strict policies of I won't talk unless s/he does, the kiss had become completely nonexistent. There had been no good morning hug, but he was encouraged by the fact that she was dressed the same as she had been, not in some bulky, extra-covering outfit like he'd been afraid of. _Back off. _ She was wearing a pretty coral suit, and it smelled like it was right out of the store, not put through the laundry yet. The shell wasn't particularly low cut, but it wasn't high enough to be uninteresting, either. Her beaded necklace had a dropdown chain, too much of an arrow for any woman to wear for a day out with a man she was attempting to put off. He filed it away as an encouraging signal, and made a note to compliment the necklace later. What was more, he noted happily that she still insisted on dragging him around everywhere by the arm.

Alex had been making some mental notes herself. _Face reddening, pulse increasing, pupils dilated. Hmm, I think he noticed the necklace. Thank God for 24 hours Meijer_. She could feel that she was turning the color of the suit with the attention, but decided it was fine with her if he noticed.

Now she was leading him by the hand to the front of the dinosaur exhibit, and after a glance to make sure her eyes weren't glassing over, he suddenly announced, "Sue."

"What?"

"Her name's Sue." He pointed to the tyrannosaur in the display ahead.

"Why?" He just shrugged.

They moved on to a parasaur. Eames noticed that he was doing his characteristic "tilty head thingy," as she sometimes thought of it. It meant he was concentrating on something. "Missing a vertebra," he said, sounding perturbed. "We'll find a curator."

She looked at him incredulously. She certainly believed him; sure he would know exactly how many bones a whoseitswhatsaurus would have, but she didn't believe that he was actual...well, no, she thought ruefully, she could believe that, too.

"Excuse me," he said to a nearby security guard, completely forgetting about his companion, who was rolling her eyes and looking as though she was torn between laughing and screaming.

"Is there a problem, sir?"

"Yeah, the parasaur's missing a vertebra in the spinal-cranial area." The guard raised an eyebrow and glanced briefly at Eames, who just shrugged.

"He's probably right, not that it matters," she added pointedly.

"Sure it does. How would the curators feel if they ended up getting corrected by a little kid?"

"They are."

The guard couldn't quite suppress a grin. "I'll get someone." He chose to appeal to the one who seemed a little more together. "But if your husband is wrong, Dr. Dion is going to be really annoyed, and I'm not taking the blame."

She started to call after him. "He's not my-" but waved her arm and decided to leave it.

"Wait, wait!" Bobby stopped him. Embarrassed, she started to tell him that it didn't really matter, but was glad he caught the guard's attention before she had a chance, because he asked, "Why is she called Sue?"

Alex had already downed three cups of coffee by the time they'd left the museum, and Bobby wondered if her night had also been spent tossing and turning and planning. He insisted that they make one more stop before dinner. Down went another coffee. She felt sure she wouldn't sleep at all for the rest of the week.

It was a beautiful flower garden, small enough to walk through without getting completely worn out after an already long day. "Of course," she said. "We have to stop and smell the roses. And the trees. And the insects. And the dirt."

"You are so funny," he remarked, an honest statement wrapped in sarcasm.

"I know it's wrong," she commented. He went into panic mode, but she continued, "But it's so beautiful. I wish I could just take the whole garden back to my room."

He pulled out a small camera. "Which ones?"

Alex considered a moment, remembering her picture on his dresser. _Might as well_, she thought ruefully. "That one," she pointed to a yellow rose right in front of

them.

"Oh, perfect," he said. He snapped a picture. "Because you know a yello-"

She cut him off. "It's great, really." She took a deep breath and pointed again. "But I like that one better, I think." Another picture, this time a light pink rose. She was happy to see him look a little unsettled at that.

He paused for a long moment, then continued with the coded courtship. "Um, what do you think about that one, there?" He was aiming the lens at a single rose a little further away. A red one.

"Yeah, I think that's it," she said, keeping her voice even, then she looked at him and smiled.

Neither spoke for thirty seconds. "Alex, we have to talk about what happ- well, what I did."

"What _we _did," she corrected. "I suppose you noticed I didn't exactly sit on the sidelines."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. It just seemed like a good idea at the time."

"But not now?" She looked right at the bird of paradise blossom straight ahead and made sure her tone didn't reveal anything.

"I don't know what I think now. All Iknow is... I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt what we have: it's perfect. I wasn't thinking, and I hope I didn't make you too uncomfortable."

That's when it hit her, what had been nagging at her the night before, what was so important. When he'd gone to kiss her, his head had moved to the right; natural

for a right-handed person, but uncomfortable for a lefty. _How typical of him_, she thought.

"Maybe we should try to go back to the way it was," he continued, tentatively. "Maybe we should just forget-"

He stopped at this point, although he had more to say. He couldn't, though because he found himself with his held tilted sharply to the left, and being kissed very

firmly, definitely a kiss that left no room for doubt about what she felt about forgetting their first. He hesitated for a moment, but barely, before an expression on his face that conveyed the idea, "Oh, well that's good, then," and he let himself relax and just enjoy this new turn of events.

When they broke apart, Alex looked up at him. "Forget _that_," she challenged.

"I wouldn't try even if I thought I possibly could," he said trying to regain his calm. He peeked up from a choice spot on the walkway and looked at her uncomfortably. "The whole time I knew you I was fighting back feelings I knew no cop should ever feel for his partner. We worked so well together, but it made it really hard sometimes to act like I should. I might have considered asking for reassignment if it weren't for the fact that no one else could work with me. But seeing you again, like this, away from the rules and the captain, there's nothing here to stand between us, I have to..." He took a deep breath. "I - I'm in love with you, Alex."

She nodded. "I know." He looked at her questioning. "Your pupils dilate when you look at me." He laughed. Maybe he had rubbed off _too _much. "You know, I stayed up for hours last night, wondering what I could possibly say to you to figure this whole thing out, I mean, after what you did, it was kind of my turn to say something, but everything you just said was exactly what I'd been trying to put together and explain. Except that you said it a lot better, so I'm glad you went first. So, well, ditto all that stuff."

He laughed. "Such a way with words." His voice was suddenly filled with hopeful doubt. "Everything?'

She stroked his cheek a little. "Yes, _all _of it: I love you, Bobby."

There was a pregnant pause. "So now what?" he wanted to know.

"So now we enjoy it." She kissed him again. "So do you have to check in before you come back to my room?" She asked in a tone one might use for asking what drawer the socks are in.

"Yeah," he said, unsurprised and casual, as if she hadn't just propositioned him for the first time in their fifteen years. "I'll just call."

"I suppose you drive?" he said teasingly.

"Normally," she said, while he felt a pang of jealousy that he knew was irrational. "But for a long time I've wondered what it would be like to make love to a genius. Somebody who's studied everything: He would know exactly the right things to do," she said seductively.

But he was focused on the first part of the statement. "A long time?"

She smiled. "About fifteen years."

He stopped to get a condom out of his wallet.

"You've been carrying those around since I got here, haven't you?" She asked, amused.

"Well, yeah."

She laughed, then regarded it, a peculiar look on her face. "It's funny, I didn't even think of that. I mean, partially just because I've had menopause, but more just- I have to keep reminding myself that this is new to us. It doesn't really feel like an affair. Or maybe I've just forgotten what an affair feels like: It's... been seven years for me."

He nodded. "Nine. I quit looking a long time ago."

She nodded in agreement. "So we're accidentally monogamous anyway, aren't we?"

"Well, I think I sabotaged myself, probably on purpose. Whenever I was out with a woman, even if she seemed really great, all I could think was that no matter

how close we got, my bond with you would always be stronger. And that wouldn't be fair to anyone. I ended up treating my dates about like I did Bishop." She winced. "So I rarely got a second date. I was told a few times that I should call back when I was emotionally available. I knew there couldn't possibly be _two _women in the world

who could be so right for me, so why look for the other one?"

"Same thing I did. So all this time I thought I was having the sex life of a nun, I've been in a long term relationship. All right, then."

"Wish I'd known," Bobby added sadly.

"Well, that's not what matters now. What matters," she started to smile again, "Is that this is going to be a _really _good night..."

(...which we will not see. It's rated PG-13, people, and- what, oh, come on! Oh, brother. Alex wants to have a word with you. What, are _you _going to tell her no? You know how bossy she is! Get on with it then!

Listen up, get lost! You've been spying on us too much already. And by the way, don't you dare start talking about the cute, adorable old couple, because for your information, not that it's any of your business, there was nothing cu- what? Oh, wow. Bobby's just informed me we broke four Illinois state laws during this little part that you're not going to see. More if you count multiple...offenses. _Oh, Jeeze! Aaaa-lex!_ Cute and adorable _that, _twenty-somethings! And as you can hear, he also says I really shouldn't be talking about all this, but too bad. LMR insists that you get to stick around for the PG-13 stuff that happens later, but I think you should just leave us the hell alone.)

Nearly two hours later, she was pretty sure she had been right about the genius thing. High and dazed, she had her head squished up under her lover's neck. "No man has _ever _paid so much attention to what I wanted. Been so giving. That was like nothing I've ever felt." Bobby understood the gravity of that statement. She felt her hair move as he inhaled deeply. "What's that about?"

"I love the way you smell."

She laughed. "From most men, that would be really flattering, Bobby, but you like to smell _everything_, including cadavers."

He put on fake defensiveness. "Well, you've always been my _favorite _smell." She smiled, the adverb not having gone unnoticed.

And I bet you're going to tell me that you can actually smell the exact blood/endorphin level," she wondered.

He hesitated. "Would you believe me if I said I could?"

She thought for a moment. "Probably."

"Then, yes, I can. It's astronomical." He turned to face his side of the bed, taking her arm with him and kissed it, felt her smile against his back.

"Absolutely zero room for improvement," she assured him.

"I'd like to try?" He sounded truly worried about his chances, even a little resigned.

"Count on it. I want every night to be like this."

"I'm not sure," he said. "I don't know if I could ever do _that _again." He finished the statement before Alex had any time to worry about what he meant. "That was _fifteen years _of suppressed desire. Wait another fifteen, and maybe I can manage something like that. I really don't _want _to wait fifteen years. I was hoping maybe tomorrow morning?" She made a noise of ascent behind him. "Besides, if we waited that long, I'd need Viagra, probably." She laughed.

"I'd be happy just to be like _this _every night," she answered, squeezing his chest tighter.

"Me, too," he said serenely. "The whole week like tonight."

Her heart fell into her stomach and even the endorphins couldn't lessen the pain that statement left in her.

"Yeah," she agreed, trying not to let her feelings show through. "All week. 'Night." She kissed his back and turned over to sleep.

"'Night." Bobby seemed to sink a little. He'd been prompting, and that _wasn't _the response he'd been hoping for. He wanted her to stay. So he settled down to a restless sleep that should have been, he thought with a twinge of annoyance, one of the most peaceful nights of his life.

It strikes me as hillarious now that when I first wrote this, some people might want me to tone down the sexuality. But then I got the internet at home and started reading the other fics. Good lord, these guys never get any sleep on this website. I sure hope Vincent and Kathryn don't read these! Yikes!

Review!


	9. Far Away

Part 2: Nobody Knows

Chapter 9: Far Away

Disclaimer: "Hey, Eames, check this out."

"Yech, fanfiction? Can't these weirdoes find something better to do in their parents' basement?"

"It stems from a pathological need to own, to possess, so they use things they don't own to manipulate (They said it, not me.), like LMR doesn't own our show, which by the way, will apparently _never _get around to fixing this sexual tension between us." (_I _said that part.)

"You didn't have many friends as a child did you? (Like I can talk.)

Chapter 9: Far Away

It was about five in the morning when Bobby first woke up. He was going to let himself fall back asleep, he knew, but he was content to look stupidly at Alex for a minute, at the back of her head anyway. "I hope I'm not dreaming," he mumbled.

He started when she spoke. "Of course you're not. You're way too much of a gentleman to put me an x-rated dream without my express permission." She turned over and smiled.

"Yeah, right. Do you remember that stakeout when we had to sleep in the same bed?"

"Yeah, you tried to sleep on the floor, and I told you not to be ridiculous."

"I believe your exact words were 'Gag me with chivalry. I swear I won't try anything.'"

"Knew it was something like that."

"You should have let me. I always had trouble, but sleeping in the same bed with you...that made it so hard."

She was in a fit of giggles and it took him a moment to relialize why. "I _bet _it did!" she said through laughter.

He laughed, too. "You know what I mean. It was difficult. And I was terrified that you were going to roll over and see just how _difficult _it was."

"Well, you're about ten years too late to look embarrassed about it now, Ninny, especially with all the difficulties we've been having lately. I'm going back to sleep. Close your eyes, and try to get some rest, dear."

Alex woke up later in the morning to see Bobby across the room, already fixing a pot of coffee. He smiled at her, passing her a cup.

"'Morning, Beautiful."

"'Morning, Liar."

"What do you want to do today?"

She raised an eyebrow, disbelieving, conveying _you're kidding, right?_

He laughed a little. "Well, I was thinking we could leave the room at some point."

"Bummer. Well, I guess we should give the maid a chance to..." she glanced around at the bedding. "Um, remind me to leave a big tip," she finished. "How about a movie?" He handed her the paper. "Well, there's the remake of _Men in Black_, the remake of _The Cell_, the remake of _The Thirteenth Floor_, and the remake of _Stir of Echoes_. Not to mention about fifty others I've never heard of."

"Is there anything that's not a-"

"Yeah, _Rocky VIII_," she offered.

He looked as if he'd just remembered something. "_5 1/2 Minute Hallway: The Navidson Report _opened last week." She shook her head, no idea. "Great book I read when I was younger. Documentary style horror. I always wondered why they didn't make it a movie. Guess it was too original. Sound good?"

"Sure. But the theaters won't even open till twelve," she pointed out. "Whatever will we do to kill the time?"

The next three days flew by. They went to the zoo: At the giraffe pen, Alex took the liberty of pointing out Bobby's cousins, a comment which earned her first a gentle noogie, then a kiss on the head to make it all better, as well as what might become her permanent nick-name, Smart-Alex. One night he insisted on driving up and down Archer Avenue hoping to glimpse a local hitchhiking ghost. They visited the House of Blues, and a few other geek-sites as well, until Alex felt she was an expert on the city.

And now, it was the morning that they dreaded. Day seven. They stood on the shore of Lake Michigan, watching the sun rise.

He looked positively morose. "What's the problem, Bobby?" she asked, pretty sure she knew.

He looked out over the lake. "I wish this week could just keep going forever."

She waited, debating for almost a minute. "Why can't it?" It was an offer.

"You said every night _this week_."

"Only because you did. I didn't want to scare you."

"You did. I guess I shouldn't tried to bait you," he admitted.

"Guess not, but that's not the point. I asked you if this is forever.."

He shook his head. "I left too soon, my pension was cut off, I don't have enough to get an apartment in New York."

"I was thinking more like a nice little house downstate?"

"Can't afford that, either."

"Not alone," she insisted. "But you could help me pay mine off. Bobby, I might as well tell you: I didn't come here to see you - I came to _get _you. I didn't know we would end up _exactly _here, but I did know that whatever our relationship turned out to be, I wasn't going to let you go again." she squeezed his hand. "I can't walk away from this. I can't say goodbye: and I don't _want _to say goodbye." She stared intently at three crossing sailboats out on the lake, then finally faced him. "I'm not leaving without you. I'm putting myself out here and checking my pride at the door. I'll camp outside the damn halfway house if I have to."

He looked up at her, not quite sure how serious she was.

"I have a nice little place. Consider yourself invited to be a permanent guest."

"Move in together?" The thought both thrilled and terrified him, but then, there was also a strange sense of comfort and normalcy about it. "I don't know, Alex." He went back to staring at the lake. "I know it sounds ridiculous, but I'm pretty old-fashioned. I know it's irrational, but... residual Catholicism, I guess."

"So, you won't live in sin, but you'll have intense, passionate, and _really good _sex with me?"

"Well, I know it's stupid... and, thanks, by the way, but, um..."

She laughed an unfunny laugh, nodded patiently. "I understand," she said with a note of disappointment, acquiescing. "It's okay. It was just a thought, never mind." There was only a brief pause in her thoughts. "Marry me." It wasn't so much a question as a comment, much as someone would mention that it was raining outside, the most natural thing in the world.

With his brilliant mind hard at work, he looked at her as though he couldn't comprehend. "Did you just propose?"

"Well, it came out sounding more like an order," she said dispassionately, "but yes, technically I did." She was still looking at the lake.

He half-smiled, half-laughed. "I can't believe this." He shook his head. "I don't know. I mean, I don't want to make the same mistake, but it's so..."

"You can't tell me it's so sudden. Fifteen freakin' years. Besides, we've shared more than most married couples ever do. Even before we were lovers, we had a closer bond than a lot of couples ever have. Even when we were partners, we were closer than-" She stopped abruptly. "I feel like I'm inside your head."

He looked at her both sadly and with some pity. "I'm sorry."

She laughed. "Don't be. I'm better for it."

He smiled, almost like he was reminiscing. "Well, you were always the OIC. Have I ever kept you from having your way?"

"Nope."

"You always knew you could pretty much talk me into anything, right?"

"Yup."

"And you always get exactly what you want, especially from me?"

"Yup."

"No reason to change that now." And to underscore his answer, he pulled her tightly into a loving kiss, and after, stroked her cheek a little. He smiled his childlike grin again. "Come on, we have to go find you a ring."

"Bobby, I don't need one. It's too extravagant."

"I have to, I need to. Besides it's a time-honored tradition," he insisted.

"Well if we follow that," she said skeptically, "I should be buying _you _the ring. It was my idea."

"Not first," he confessed, biting his lip. "I thought of it already. Thought of it five years ago, after I resigned, but before I left. That's why I went so far away when I left. I thought maybe you could forget. I wanted this, but I knew it would be bad for you."

"Who were you to decide that for me?" she wondered. "Besides, I guess you're not as smart as you think you are. I'm not an easy person. You're the only one who live with me and not hate me. Face it, we're just two misshapen peas in an off-center pod." She thought for a moment. "I would have said yes, you know. I've loved you all along. But no ring," she added sternly, back on track.

The look on his face was as if Christmas was canceled. "You deserve one."

She couldn't help but be touched, despite his frustrating impracticality. What was needed here was a compromise "Tell you what: I get to pick the ring, exactly the one I want. And you _can't argue_." She waited for him to nod before continuing. "I _don't _want a diamond. It's too expensive, the bloodshed, and they're not _that _great anyway. Kinda boring really. I want a puzzle ring. A silver one."

"You mean those kind that come apart when you take them off?"

"I think it's fitting," she teased, thinking of her maternity leave. "Besides, they're fun."

"It's a sign of distrust," he said, upset.

"Maybe for most people, but when we're talking about two brilliant detectives, it's not really such a big deal is it? I think we could manage it we wanted to. Our relationship is a puzzle. Strange pieces that look incompatable, but come together seamlessly. It's perfect."

"No way. You're just trying to make sure I don't spend too much money. Not gonna work."

"I mean it," she said honestly. "And I look lousy in gold, so don't try that either. That's what I want and anything else will be a terrible insult," she said with finality.

He smiled again. "Then that is exactly what you'll have." He paused a bit before going on. "And I'm glad to know you're as stubborn as ever. It's refreshing." She playfully whacked his shoulder. He paused in thought again. "You do realize we're going to have to tell the captain about this?"

"Had to ruin the happiest day of my whole freakin' life," Alex said in a light growl.

"Hi, again, Essie!" Alex called cheerfully.

"You're invited," Bobby called.

S.C. looked at them puzzled for only a moment before perking up. "I knew it!"

"You knew when you met me six days ago?" she asked skeptically.

"No," she responded casually. "Three years ago when I moved in. He wouldn't shut up aboot you. Looks like Bonnie wins the pool." 


	10. Amazed

Haunted

By LMR

Disclaimer: Fanfiction is a that has no descernable boundaries and and ownership. A story created for consumption by all expands

(Listen to the House. Read the House. Pass it on.)

Part 2: Nobody Knows

Chapter 10: Amazed

"You're telling him," Alex insisted.

"Why me?"

"Because you know everything," she reasoned. "So you'll know exactly what to say."

"You're full of it," he reminded her.

"Fine. The real reason?" Bobby nodded. "You're going to be my husband and that automatically makes me the boss of you."

He laughed. "Oh, well, how can I argue with logic like that? Okay, I'll tell him." He paused, tense. "I really have no idea what to expect- what he's going to say. I

feel like I'm going to the Principal's office."

"He's not going to be mad." She smiled. "He'll probably announce the winners of the betting pool."

"That reminds me," he said. "Bonnie says 'thank you.'"

But before they could get to Ross's door, they came across someone else familiar.

Her eyes widened with surprise, then narrowed with some distaste. "Goren, Eames. What are you doing here?"

"Bishop," Goren said. "Hi, nice to see you." He held out a hand.

She raised an eyebrow but took it. "Yeah, I'm sure." She shook Eames's hand too, looking less than thrilled to see her again.

"We, um, have to tell Ross something," Eames said, sounding a little uncertain. They had intended to tell him first (Alex insisted on surprising her sister and her family by just telling them she was bringing an old friend for Christmas).

Bobby shrugged. "Might as well tell her," he suggested.

"Sure, but don't automatically invite her, maybe, but we have to get a list together and you've already invited half of Chicago."

"Well we should, re-"

"HI," Bishop interjected loudly. "For a while, I got really used to listening to you two talk about me like I didn't exist, not to mention throwing notes at each other across the room, but I'm kind of out of the habit, so could somebody explain to me what the hell you're talking about?"

"Sorry," Goren said, looking at his fiance. _Should I tell her? _Alex just shrugged. _ You go ahead, she hates me more_.

"Alex and I have to tell Ross that, well, we're getting married."

Bishop nodded for a moment, then put on a completely affect-free face and said in bland monotone, "Wow, I am overcome with surprise. I never expected that. That just came out of nowhere."

Bobby smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, I guess you probably knew the whole time, didn't you."

"Yeah, I kind of got that impression when you started ranting at that video game killer about Yoko Ono and impotence. You realize that if you had waited five more

minutes to go into labor," she said to Alex, "they would have taken him away in booties and a straightjacket?"

But Alex was still lost. "Impotence?" she mouthed, trying to figure out what the hell he'd been ranting about.

Next, to Deakin's house.

She knocked on the door as Bobby hung back. "Hi, Deakins."

"Alex! What brings you here?"

She smiled. "Thought you might like to see an old friend again."

"Well sure, it's always great to..." his voice trailed off as she dragged the friend she was talking about into the room. "Goren." He rose to shake his hand, then hugged him. "How did she get you out of hiding?"

"Hit me over the head and dragged me back." Alex glared, smiling.

The Captain raised his eyebrows. "Well, nothing's changed anyway. It's great to see you again. I hope you've been well these past years?"

"Not really. But coming back here was the smartest thing I've done in five years. It's getting better. A lot better." He looked down, and couldn't have possibly

looked more nervous if he were twenty-five and telling Alex's father the news. "We have to tell you something, and we wanted to make sure you heard from us first so you don't to any obvious but, well, wrong conclusions. It's important that you understand the way this happened, and-"

Alex rolled her eyes, and piped up before the intro could go on for an hour. "We're getting married."

"After all that about making me tell him?"

Deakins looked as though he had just eaten an especially hot pepper. "Are you serious?" He paused a minute, and seeing two very nervous looking retired detectives, his eyes widened. "Wow, that's surp- well, no, actually it's not really surprising at all. But, still, I'm amazed."

"We weren't involved at all when we were on the force, I promise," Bobby clarified. "Nothing, not even a kiss."

"Well I know that," he said, sounding almost as though his intelligence had been called into question. "Of course you weren't."

"Huh. How are you so sure?" Bobby wondered. "I mean, it's true," he amended quickly. "But if sounds like it didn't even occur to you?"

"'Course not. You're both great actors when you need to be." They looked at him uncomprehending. "If you had been trying to hide an affair," he clarified, "You wouldn't have acted like an old married couple all the time." This time they both rolled their eyes.

"How long ago did you, um, decide this?"

The two silently figured, then debated two or three days, finally deciding it had really been so early in the day... "Two and a half days ago," Alex finally answered,

"How long ago did you find him?" the Captain asked, feeling slighted that he hadn't gotten to talk to Goren right away.

"Was it Monday or Tuesday I got to Chicago?"

"Tuesday night."

"So... ten days ago," she answered without the slightest indication that this answer seemed a little odd.

"Okaaay. Ring?"

"I don't have it yet. He's going to surprise me with the ring I picked out." She looked up at Bobby. "At least, that had better be the one I'm getting, or he's going to get hurt." The Captain's brow furrowed. Alex had never struck him as materialistic.

"She's being cheap," Bobby explained.

"No, _he's_ being impractical."

"More than two hundred dollars would not be impractical," he pointed out The Captain was watching, obviously amused and trying not to laugh too blatantly.

"Paying off the house is more important, Bobby. Besides, normal engagement rings are boring. I'm weird, I'm marrying a weird guy, and I want a weird ring."

After a few minutes of chatting, Alex announced that she needed to use the restroom, and yes she could find it just fine, for goodness' sakes, Captain, it's not a maze, it's not like the hallways have been rearranging themselves. It's just a house.

After she left the room, the Captain, gave Bobby a satisfied look. "I've never seen her smile so much. She's positively glowing." He threw Bobby a joking

suspicious glare.

"_No_," he answered unnecessarily.

The captain laughed, then leaned in a little and talked quietly, in case she was on her way back. "_Is _it the ring you got?"

"Yep." He pulled the box out of his pocket. "She can make me get a four hundred dollar ring, but she can't keep me from embellishing it a little."

It was May first, a beautiful day with the sunlight just starting to shimmer peacefully after a rainstorm, when the sky was still clear, but shielded as if a tarp had been stretched over the Earth. Alex had insisted that she not wear a traditional wedding dress. Her exact words, as Bobby recalled fondly were, "Blech, gag me with frilly girly garbage." After some appeals to his love of the old-fashioned, beautiful, big wedding, and plain old pouting, she relented to get a white dress, a suggestion that she first labeled "completely phony, and you of all people certainly know that." He had insisted that the original purpose of of white dress was not virginity (and yes, he _certainly _knew that that would be nonsense, and thank goodness for that.), but to signify the wealth of the couple that they could afford a dress to only be worn once. He suspected she had given in largely to get him to cut short the history lesson. Actually, dress shopping with her had been overall a very interesting experience. She insisted that he help pick the dress on the premise that they all kind of looked the same to her. He had a feeling the salesgirl, Marie, had just about had the time of her life. One memorable dress he suggested was met with a scrutinizing look and finally, "It clashes."

"With what?"

"The floor in the bedroom," she answered, not even looking at him, and looking at the dress as if she were quite serious about home decor. "And the kitchen, and

the bathroom, and the living room. Oh, and the grass in the backyard too." She kept a completely bored expression on her face as she made the laundry list. The salesgirl hastily began to search for something she hadn't dropped behind the counter.

"If you don't like it, you could just say so," he advised.

"I hate it. But I didn't want to embarrass you."

They had finally picked one they could agree on, and, of course, she looked stunning. And for once, rather shy. "Hi," she greeted him simply upon seeing him for the first time in the traditional twenty-four hours. (Her sister had insisted on that part.) She had forgone the march up the aisle and came to the alter from the other side of

the garden of their home, where the ceremony was taking place.

"Hi."

There was the usual talk by the minister about love, and the beauty of all marriages formed on a base of complete trust, the rare joy of being in love with your best

friend, and a bunch of other things that the couple barely heard, out of pure nerves.

When she got to the "doing" part, the minister asked them each to produce their rings. Alex shot Bobby a questioning look. Did he go back on their deal?

He gave her a reassuring nod, yes it was the right one, although she noted that it was still tucked away in its velvet box.

"Robert Goren, do you swear to love and honor Alexandra in good times and bad, sickness and health?"

He smiled a bit, his intense gaze not wavering. "I do."

He opened the box, and to Alex's relief produced the complex puzzle ring in silver (actually it was white gold, but he had no intention of telling her this until the

house was paid off). She started to put it on, but he stopped her hand. "Read it first."

She looked at him, shocked, and looked at the inside of the band, reading aloud for the guests:

"Alex, always my partner. Love, Bobby"

Her eyes started to shine with tears and she laughed a little from the sheer unexpected gesture. "Obviously, I wasn't expecting that," she said to the guests, trying to regain her composure. She put it on. "I love you, Bobby." She stretched her arms over his shoulders and pulled him down to kiss him.

"Hey," the minister teased. "I didn't say you could do that yet!"

The crowd reacted with gentle laughter, which only increased with Alex's characteristic response.

"Who asked you? I do, happy?"

After Bobby finished laughing, they kissed for the first time "officially" (Assuming of course that the marriage was technically established at this point: no one was really sure). The minister, in fact seemed perfectly happy with the abbreviated version of the vows. "Okay then," she said through laughing. "If you care, I _now _pronounce you husband and wife. You may...continue."

When they were done, Alex turned back toward the guests. "And before the reception, I want to just go ahead and answer the question I've been asked about

three thousand, nine hundred and twenty seven times: No, we were _not _having an affair when we were on the force. Unfortunately."

The first song began to play, And Alex wondered briefly why it was country, but frankly didn't care.

"Dance?" her husband offered.

"Let me think about it." Even she couldn't keep a straight face for long before moving out to the dancing area.

"Our first dance," he pointed out.

"What are you talking about? We danced when we visited my nephew at Christmas, and at that one restaurant in Chicago. And if you go way back the _very _first

was that time at Elean-" recognition clicked on her face. "This is the song."

"Yup."

"Showing off you can remember anything?" She didn't seem the slightest bit perturbed by this.

"_No _man ever forgets his first dance with the woman he knows he's going to love forever."

"But you didn't know that this would ha-"

"No. I never imagined this would happen, but I always knew it was what I wanted."

"Yeah, I did, too. Unfortunately, I was concentrating on how much my back hurt, so I didn't really get to enjoy it at the time."

"Now?"

"Well, my _back's _okay. I could do without the arthritis, though."

"So," she wondered, now standing by the door. "Is the carrying over the threshold thing to prove a guy's a gentleman, or to show off how strong he is?"

"Neither. Originally there was a broom in the doorway, and the couple jumps it as a charm for fertility." He lifted her easily, careful with the dress.

"Fertility?" her eyebrows raised. "Put me down."

He paused at the door. "Ready to start our new life?"

"No. Ready to continue what we've had all along."

**Please, please, please, please** R&R!!!!!! Even if you think it sucked! The only ones I don't wanna hear from are non BG/AE 'shippers, and if you are, and you got this far without vomiting, kudos to you. Also, you suck!


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